THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  George  Papashvily 


ONCE   AGAIN 


BY 


MRS.    FORRESTER, 

AUTHOR  OF   "JUNE,"  "I    HAVE   LIVED   AND   LOVED,"    "  VIVA,*1 
"MY   LORD   AND   MY   LADY,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA! 

J.   B.  LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY. 
1896. 


ONCE   AGAIN. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

A  YOUNG  man  and  a  pretty  girl  madly  in  love.  The 
adverb  is  correct.  Love,  like  anger,  is  a  brief  madness. 
Love,  when  every  question  of  prudence,  of  expediency,  of 
consideration  for  the  future,  is  flung  recklessly  to  the 
winds,  is  a  disastrous  form  of  madness. 

The  man  is  much  madder  than  the  girl,  inasmuch  as  his 
passion  is  a  thousandfold  stronger  than  hers.  She,  indeed, 
pretty,  fair,  and  foolish,  without  much  character,  has 
hitherto  been  uninfluenced  by  strong  feeling  of  any  kind. 
Her  lover's  fire  has,  however,  kindled  a  certain  amount  of 
answering  warmth  in  her  breast,  and  he  has  succeeded  in 
persuading  her  that  life  without  him  would  not  be  worth 
living.  She  is  weak ;  she  is  yielding ;  she  has  a  little — 
only  a  little — touch  of  romance,  and  she  is  younger  than 
her  nineteen  years  warrant.  She  has  always  leaned  on 
a  stronger  nature.  Until  she  met,  just  one  month  ago, 
the  rock  which  at  present  offers  her  its  support,  she  had 
leaned  upon  her  mother ;  but  the  breast  of  the  stalwart 
young  soldier  seemed  to  suggest  a  more  attractive  shelter 
than  the  maternal  bosom,  and,  resolutely  shutting  her 
eyes  to  any  but  the  most  agreeable  and  seductive  thoughts 
of  the  future,  Miss  Dulcie  proposed  to  herself  to  repose 
blissfully  and  continuously  on  the  impassioned  heart  of  Mr. 
Roel  Trevor  for  the  next  five  decades. 

The  absolutely  insuperable  obstacle  represented  by  the 
young  gentleman's  want  of  fortune  added  the  necessary 
fuel  to  the  flames. 

Mrs.  Yernon,  Dulcie's  mother, — a  thorough  woman  of  the 
world,  with  a  nature  as  strong  as  her  daughter's  was  weak, 
— was  not  in  the  very  smallest  degree  likely  to  be  influ- 

1*  5 

036 


6  ONCE  AGAIN. 

enced  by  any  amount  of  tears  and  prayers  from  despairing 
lovers.  She  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  the  exact  value 
of  love, — so  called  by  rash  and  inconsiderate  youth, — and 
would  not  have  permitted  Cupid  to  unfurl  one  feather  of 
his  wings  under  her  roof  unless  he  brought  substantial 
offerings  along  with  his  false  and  foolish  vows.  Love, 
forsooth !  Perjured  little  wretch !  Source  of  abiding 
misery  and  wretchedness  since  Time  began !  Dulcie  had 
met  Mr.  Trevor  in  a  country  house,  where,  most  unusual 
to  relate,  she  had  been  a  guest  without  her  mother.  After 
they  had  danced,  ridden,  walked,  and  sung  together,  the 
first  symptoms  of  madness  discovered  themselves :  the 
moment  they  were  parted  the  disease  assumed  a  serious 
form. 

One  November  afternoon,  Mr.  Trevor,  feeling  it  utterly 
impossible  to  remain  another  twenty-four  hours  without 
seeing  the  only  object  for  which  he  at  present  existed,  re- 
solved to  take  the  desperate  measure  of  calling  at  the 
house  which  shrined  his  angel,  and,  about  the  hour  when 
the  feminine  and  modest  orgy  which  is  performed  each 
afternoon  in  the  family  circle  was  likely  to  be  in  full 
swing,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  No.  —  Grosvenor  Street 
and  prepared  to  face  the  dragon  who  guarded  the  golden 
apple  he  coveted.  For  Dulcie  had  represented  her  mamma 
to  him  somewhat  in  the  light  of  a  dragon, — knowing  as 
well  as  she  did  that  lady's  opinion  on  the  subject  of  impe- 
cunious admirers.  Noel,  being  a  straightforward  young 
soldier,  had  interspersed  his  vows  with  lamentations  on 
the  limited  condition  of  his  finances,  and,  whilst  pleading 
ardently  for  her  love  and  her  hand,  had  not  scrupled  to 
represent  his  own  unfitness  to  receive  the  gift. 

He  had  fondly  imagined  that  Dulcie  would  in  some 
manner  have  paved  the  way  for  his  visit,  have  prepared 
her  mother's  mind  for  an  approaching  suitor ;  but  he  reck- 
oned without  his  fair.  Dulcie  was  an  arrant  coward,  very 
much  in  awe  of  her  mother,  and  had  only  mentioned  her 
meeting  with  Mr.  Trevor  in  so  casual  a  manner  that  it 
had  not  given  Mrs.  Yernon  the  smallest  arriere-pensee. 
But  Noel  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  her  charming 
drawing-room  before  that  astute  lady  grasped  the  state 
of  affairs.  Mr.  Trevor  was  in  love  with  her  daughter, 
and,  from  the  slight  confusion  and  excitement  in  the  man- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  7 

nor  of  her  usually  placid  Dulcie,  she  divined  that  his  feel- 
ing was  reciprocated. 

As  she  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Trevor,  his  connections  and 
affairs,  his  desirability  or  the  reverse,  her  behavior  to  him 
was  tinted  by  a  courteous  neutrality :  she  was  very  pleas- 
ant, very  civil,  but  she  gave  him  no  opportunity  of  ex- 
changing a  glance  or  word  alone  with  Dulcie,  and  when 
he  took  his  leave  she  did  not  invite  him  to  repeat  his 
visit.  He  prolonged  his  call,  fraught  as  it  was  to  him  with 
embarrassment  and  discomfort,  hoping  against  hope  that 
other  guests  would  come  in  and  divert  Mrs.  Yernon's  at- 
tention from  himself  and  her  daughter,  thus  giving  them 
a  chance  of  communicating  eternal  promises  of  fidelity 
with  their  eyes,  and  perhaps  by  whispers ;  but  on  this  un- 
fortunate afternoon  he  was  the  only  visitor,  and  when  he 
went  out  from  the  presence  which  he  had  entered  with  a 
beating  and  hopeful  heart  it  was  with  a  confused  feeling 
of  having  beaten  his  head  against,  not  a  brick  wall,  but  a 
velvet  cushion. 

"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Trevor,  Dulcie  ?"  inquired  her  mother, 
when  the  door  had  closed  upon  their  visitor.  Her  tone 
was  airy  and  indifferent. 

Dulcie  blushed  and  pretended  to  arrange  the  teacups. 

"  I  do  not  know,  mamma/'  she  returned,  in  a  confused 
voice. 

"  Is  he  related  to  the  Trevors  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Who  are  his  people  ?" 

"  I — I  don't  think  he  has  any — particularly,"  stumbled 
Dulcie.  "  His  mother  died  a  year  ago,  and  he  has  not  any 
father  or  brothers  or  sisters." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  lives  anywhere.  He  is  in  the  — tn, 
and  his  regiment  is  going  to  India  in  a  month  or  two." 

Mrs.  Yernon  involuntarily  heaved  a  slight  sigh  of  re- 
lief. India  is  an  excellent  place  for  impecunious  young 
soldiers. 

"  How  did  the  Fawcetts  come  to  know  him  ?"  she  in- 
quired, with  symptoms  of  waning  interest  in  her  tone. 

"  I — I  think  he  was  at  school  with  Charlie." 

"Rather  foolish  of  them  to  ask  him  there  with  two 
marriageable  daughters,"  observed  Mrs.  Yernon,  looking 


8  ONCE  AGAIN. 

full  at  poor  embarrassed  Dulcie,  "  if,  as  I  gather  from  what 
you  say,  he  has  no  money  and  no  expectations.  However, 
he  seems  rather  a  dull  young  man,  so  perhaps  they  do  not 
consider  him  dangerous." 

The  stab  penetrated  Dulcie's  breast,  but  she  gave  no 
sign.  She  understood  well  enough  what  her  mother 
meant ;  she  knew,  as  she  had  known  before,  that  the  case 
was  hopeless.  Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  turned 
away  to  hide  them,  but  Mrs.  Yernon  read  her  face  as  an 
open  page. 

"  This,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  sense  of  irritation, 
"  comes  of  my  being  foolish  enough  to  allow  her  to  stay 
in  a  house  without  me.  Eeally  I  should  have  given 
Agnes  Fawcett  credit  for  a  little  more  discretion  than  to 
invite  a  man  of  that  sort." 

Meantime,  Noel  was  walking  in  deep  dejection  to  his 
club.  Arrived  there,  he  proceeded  to  the  smoking-room, 
flung  himself  into  a  low  chair,  and  having,  like  Jupiter, 
concealed  himself  in  clouds,  gave  the  rein  to  the  most 
dismal  thoughts  and  imaginings.  He  conceived  a  hatred 
of  Mrs.  Yernon  which  that  courteous  and  well-bred  lady 
had  certainly  done  little  to  merit  during  their  interview : 
everything  assumed  a  tinge  of  inky  despair :  the  world 
was  Pandora's  box  without  its  one  redeeming  feature. 
If  he  could  only  write  to  his  beloved  one !  But  he  felt 
certain  that  dreadful  mother  of  hers  opened  her  letters. 
Communicate  with  her  in  some  way  he  must  and  would ; 
but  how  ? 

He  dined  without  appetite,  and  retired  again  to  seek 
the  soothing  influence  of  nicotine,  finally  deciding  to 
write  to  Dulcie  a  letter  which,  even  if  it  fell,  as  he  fore- 
saw it  would,  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Yernon,  could  not 
do  any  serious  mischief.  He  took  up  his  pen,  and,  after 
many  nibblings  at  its  tail,  for  he  was  not  very  clever  at 
expressing  his  thoughts  on  paper,  wrote, — 

"  DEAR  Miss  YERNON, — 

"  I  am  quite  ashamed  that  I  have  only  just  remembered 
the  song  I  promised  to  get  you."  ("  Of  course  she'll  tum- 
ble to  that,"  he  soliloquized,  grinding  the  pen  in  his  strong 
young  teeth.)  "  But  I  shall  get  it  the  first  thing  to-mor- 
row and  send  it."  (After  this  Mr.  Trevor  took  at  least  ten 


ONCE  AGAIN.  9 

minutes  to  decide  on  his  next  sentence.)  "  I  hope,"  he  ulti- 
mately continued,  "  that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  again  before  I  go  to  India.  Do  you  walk  in  the  Eow 
sometimes  in  the  morning,  or  might  not  we  do  a  play 
together? 

"  Believe  me, 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"NOEL  TREVOR." 

"  There !"  he  ejaculated,  relieved,  "  there  is  nothing  in 
that  that  the  old  cat  may  not  see,  and  Dulcie — Jove  !  what 
a  sweet,  dear  name  it  is ! — must  answer  it.  She'll  under- 
stand, of  course,  little  darling,  why  I've  made  it  so  cool 
and  formal." 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  rather  vexed  at  the  discovery  she  had 
made,  but  did  not  allow  it  to  trouble  her  seriously.  Her 
Dulcie  was  so  well  brought  up,  so  thoroughly  under  her 
control,  that  she  could  not  imagine  her  turning  restive ; 
and  then,  heaven  be  thanked !  this  young  man  was  going 
to  India,  and  Dulcie  would  straightway  forget  all  about 
him.  The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  prevent  their  meeting 
in  the  mean  time.  Mrs.  Yernon  thoroughly  considered 
the  question  in  all  its  bearings  ;  whether  opposition  would 
be  dangerous,  whether  it  would  be  more  prudent  to  pre- 
tend to  see  nothing ;  but,  on  the  whole,  knowing  her  own 
strength  and  Dulcie's  weakness,  she  concluded  the  best 
plan  would  be  to  make  the  girl  understand  that  young 
Trevor  was  not  to  be  thought~of  for  an  instant. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  an  ambitious  woman,  and  had  very 
different  views  for  her  pretty  daughter. 

She  woke  earlier  than  usual  the  following  morning,  as 
often  happens  to  people  when  they  have  vexing  thoughts 
lying  in  wait  at  their  pillow-heads,  and  had  plenty  of 
time  to  reflect  on  the  subject  in  every  aspect  before  her 
maid  came  to  call  her. 

u  Bring  all  the  letters  to  me  when  the  postman  comes, 
Morton,"  she  said,  having  an  intuition  that  Mr.  Trevor 
would  probably  employ  ^that  messenger  of  love.  The 
result  proved  the  correctness  of  her  suspicions. 

A  letter  bearing  her  daughter's  name,  with  the  large 
device  of  a  military  club  on  the  flap  of  the  envelope,  was 
handed  to  her  with  her  own  correspondence. 


10  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  To  Miss  Dulcie  Vernon" 

she  read,  in  a  school-boyish  hand.  Without  hesitation 
Mrs.  Vernon  broke  the  seal,  and  read  the  contents  of  the 
letter,  seeing  completely  through  Mr.  Trevor's  ruse  at 
the  first  glance.  When  she  and  her  daughter  met  at 
breakfast,  her  manner  was  more  than  usually  kind  and  af- 
fectionate. It  was  not  until  the  conclusion  of  the  sociable 
little  meal  that  she  alluded  to  the  disagreeable  subject 
weighing  on  her  mind.  She  spoke  in  a  very  kind  but  a 
very  firm  voice,  so  that  Dulcie  might  know  there  was  no 
appeal  from  her  decision. 

"  Dulcie  dear," — taking  up  the  envelope  and  pausing 
for  a  moment  with  it  in  her  hand, — "this  came  for  you 
this  morning.  I  do  not  approve  of  young  men  writing 
to  you,  and  I  opened  it." 

Dulcie  blushed  furiously.  She  was  indignant  at  her 
precious  missive  having  been  tampered  with,  and  she  was 
terribly  frightened  lest  Noel  should  have  given  vent  to 
any  endearing  expressions  in  it  that  might  draw  down  the 
vials  of  her  mother's  wrath  on  their  devoted  heads. 

She  took  it  from  Mrs.  Yernon's  hand,  but  was  too  para- 
lyzed by  her  emotions  to  attempt  to  open  it. 

"  Eead  it,"  said  her  mother,  suavely.  "  You  must  an- 
swer it.  I  shall  tell  you  what  to  say."  And  Mrs.  Vernon 
was  obliging  enough  to  turn  away  to  the  window,  in  order 
to  mitigate  her  timorous  daughter's  confusion. 

Dulcie  comprehended  her  lover's  stratagem.  There  had 
been  no  question  of  his  sending  her  any  song,  but  she  un- 
derstood that  it  was  a  device  on  his  part  to  write  to  her, 
and  an  intimation  where  he  might  be  addressed. 

Her  mother  gave  her  plenty  of  time  to  read  the  note 
before  she  returned  to  the  table. 

"I  dare  say,"  she  remarked,  quite  affably,  "that  Mr. 
Trevor  is  an  excellent  young  man ;  but  I  do  not  wish  him 
to  entertain  any  mistaken  ideas  that  might  lead  to  dis- 
appointment later  on  :  so  I  will  make  a  little  draft  of  a 
note,  and  when  the  song  arrives  you  shall  write  it  and 
send  it  off." 

Dulcie  answered  not  a  word.  She  sat  holding  the  letter 
and  looking  at  the  fire.  Mrs.  Vernon  took  this  silence  as 
implying  complete  submission.  She  had  not,  indeed,  ex- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  11 

pected  any  resistance  from  her  habitually  docile  daughter, 
but  then  Dulcie  had  never  yet  been,  or  fancied  herself,  in 
love. 

Eesolute  people  with  strong  wills  are  very  often  unpre- 
pared for  the  commonest  weapon  of  the  weak, — deceit. 
When  they  command  and  their  victim  appears  passive, 
they  too  often  take  it  for  gratfted  that  their  will  has  tri- 
umphed and  is  acquiesced  in. 

Mrs.  Yernon  came  up  to  Dulcie  and  kissed  her,  feeling 
all  the  benevolence  of  a  generous  victor. 

"  You  know,  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  my  first  object  in 
life  is  your  happiness." 

And  with  a  kind  little  pressure  on  Dulcie's  shoulder, 
and  scarcely  remarking  that  her  embrace  was  not  re- 
turned, or,  if  she  did,  making  allowance  for  the  girl's  dis- 
appointment, she  went  off  light-heartedly  to  her  boudoir, 
to  make  the  draft  that  was  to  crush  Mr.  Trevor's  pre- 
sumptuous hopes. 

A  dull  feeling  of  rebellion  surged  in  slow  waves  over 
Dulcie's  heart.  Why  was  she  to  submit  to  her  mother's 
fiat  in  a  matter  so  all-important  to  her?  She  loved  Noel ; 
he  loved  her :  why  should  their  young  hearts  be  blighted 
for  the  sake  of  ambition  ?  If  her  mother  had  outgrown 
all  memories  of  love  and  youth  (Dulcie  took  leave  to 
doubt  whether  there  were  any  such  episodes  to  be  re- 
membered), why  was  she  to  be  condemned  to  a  life  with- 
out romance?  Why  should  she  be  sacrificed  to  vanity 
and  ambition  ?  She  felt  sure — with  smothered  resentment 
— that  if  any  horrid  old  wretch  with  a  title  or  a  great 
deal  of  money  came  forward  as  a  suitor,  her  mother  would 
be  ready  to  drive  her  to  the  altar  in  spite  of  herself. 
Yague  thoughts  of  resistance  flitted  through  the  girl's 
brain,  but  she  had  sufficient  consciousness  of  her  own 
weakness  to  realize  that  a  hand-to-hand  combat  with  her 
mother  would  leave  her  vanquished  and  weaponless  be 
fore  a  minute  had  elapsed. 

She  would  write  the  letter  that  her  mother  dictated; 
she  would  seem  to  acquiesce ;  but,  before  that,  she  would 
write  another  letter  on  her  own  account,  explaining  to 
Noel  that  the  one  he  would  receive  later  was  simply  sent 
at  her  mother's  dictation,  and  was  in  no  way  to  be  taken 
as  the  expression  of  her  own  sentiments. 


12  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Mrs.  Yernon  returned,  draft  in  hand,  before  Dulcie  had 
finished  her  cogitations. 

"  Come,  dear,  and  write  it  at  once :  then  it  will  be  done 
with !"  said  mamma,  persuasively. 

And  Dulcie,  still  without  a  word,  followed  her  mother 
to  the  boudoir,  and,  sitting  down  at  the  writing-table,  in- 
di  ted  the  following  lines  to  Mr.  Trevor : 

u  DEAR  MR.  TREVOR, — 

"  I  have  just  received  the  song.  Thank  you  for  sending 
it.  We  are  not  going  out  in  the  evening  at  present,  as 
my  mother  has  a  cold,  and  we  do  not  walk  in  the  Park  in 
the  winter. 

"  Believe  me,  yours  truly, 

"  DULCIE  YERNON." 

Mrs.  Yernon  had  thought  it  quite  possible  that  Dulcie 
would  remonstrate  about  the  extreme  coldness  and  for- 
mality of  the  note,  and  was  agreeably  surprised  to  see  her 
copying  it  without  comment.  When  it  was  finished  and 
the  envelope  directed,  she  lighted  a  taper  and  affixed  a  neat 
little  red  seal  to  it  to  make  quite  sure  that  it  should  not 
be  tampered  with. 

"  I  must  go  out  this  fine  morning,"  remarked  Dulcie,  her 
task  finished,  and  her  mother  responded,  cheerfully, — 

"  Yes,  do,  my  dear.  Morton  shall  go  with  you.  You 
do  not  want  to  start  before  twelve,  I  suppose  ?  It  is  a 
quarter  to  eleven  now.  Will  you  not  practise  your  sing- 
ing a  little  first  ?" 

But  Dulcie  had  something  else  to  do  than  to  practise 
singing.  She  retired  to  her  bedroom  and  wrote  another — 
quite  a  different — letter  to  Mr.  Trevor.  A  certain  amount 
of  fear  and  conscious  guilt  trembled  at  her  heart.  She  had 
never  written  to  a  young  man  before.  But  the  idea  had 
taken  firmly  hold  of  her  that  she  had  a  right  to  bestow 
her  heart  where  she  chose,  and  that  if  she  was  doing  a 
bold  and  wrong  thing  her  mother  had  driven  her  to  it. 

Although  her  door  was  locked,  her  heart  palpitated 
very  distinctly  as  she  wrote  the  words  "  Dearest  Noel," 
and  almost  involuntarily  she  glanced  over  her  shoulder  to 
make  sure  that  no  one  was  standing  behind  her.  Keas- 
sured,  she  continued : 


ONCE  AGAIN.  13 

"  Mamma  has  made  me  write  the  most  horrid  note  in 
answer  to  yours.  Of  course  I  was  obliged  to  do  as  she 
told  me,  but  you  will  understand — won't  you? — that  it  is 
not  my  fault.  Wasn't  it  wretched  yesterday  not  being  able 
to  say  a  word  to  each  other  alone  ?  It  hardly  ever  happens 
that  we  do  not  have  three  or  four  people  calling  in  the 
afternoon.  I  suppose  mamma  suspects  something,  and  she 
thinks  of  nothing  but  money  and  position,  and  is  always 
saying  that  love  is  all  nonsense,  and  that  people  are  sure  to 
be  unhappy  if  they  are  poor,  whereas  if  they  are  rich,  and 
get  tired  of  each  other,  or  don't  get  on,  they  have  other 
things  to  fall  back  upon.  Isn't  it  horrid  I  She  won't  let 
me  go  near  the  Park,  I  know,  for  fear  I  should  meet  you ; 
but  I  mean  to  walk  every  morning  now  up  Bond  Street, 
through  Cavendish  Square,  and  up  Portland  Place  to  the 
Regent's  Park,  a  place  I  hate,  but  I  shall  not  hate  it  if  I 
meet  you  there.  Morton,  our  maid,  always  walks  out 
with  me,  but  she  is  a  good  old  thing,  and  won't  tell  of  us, 
I  know.  Of  course  you  won't  come  to-day,  because  you 
won't  get  this  in  time ;  but  I  shall  look  forward  to  seeing 
you  to-morrow.  Always,  dearest  Noel,  yours, 

"  DULCIE. 

"P.S. — Write  to  me  and  direct  the  envelope  to  Mrs. 
Morton  in  a  feigned  hand,  and  don't  write  on  those  enve- 
lopes with  the  club  crest." 

Dulcie  addressed  her  letter,  unlocked  her  door,  and,  like 
a  good,  obedient  daughter,  went  into  the  drawing-room 
and  began  to  practise  her  scales. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Vernon  gave  strict  injunctions  to  Mor- 
ton that  she  was  not  to  walk  in  Piccadilly  or  near  the 
Eow  with  Miss  Dulcie.  They  might  go  towards  the 
Marble  Arch,  Oxford  Street,  or  the  Kegent's  Park.  Sho 
even  gave  the  maid  a  commission  to  execute  at  Marshall 
and  Snelgrove's  en  route.  And,  whilst  this  astute  lady 
made  her  plans  and  laid  her  parallels,  she  was  innocent  of 
the  remotest  suspicion  that  her  guileless  young  daughter 
was  similarly  employed. 

Morton  was  a  comely  and  comfortable-looking  woman 
of  five-and -forty,  of  a  romantic  turn,  and  with  a  very  un- 
evenly-balanced mind.  All  her  spare  time  and  a  good 

2 


14  ONCE  AGAIN. 

deal  of  time  that  she  ought  not  to  have  spared  was  de- 
voted to  novel-reading,  and  many  a  time  her  eyes  were 
red  from  crying  over  the  woes  of  lovers.  She  had  the 
leaning  towards  intrigue  that  is  the  natural  bent  of  Abi- 
gails, and  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  find  a  more 
imprudent  or  ill-advised  counsellor  for  a  young  girl  who 
had  not  a  very  sound  head.  She  belonged  to  that  class  of 
people  who  commit  the  most  serious  mischief  in  the  world, 
— those  who  "  don't  mean  any  harm."  But  she  was  also 
of  a  wavering  and  irresolute  nature,  and,  though  she 
might  be  tempted  into  danger  by  sentiment,  she  would 
not,  it  is  to  be  feared,  have  scrupled  to  scramble  out  again, 
leaving  her  accomplices  in  the  lurch. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

MORTON  had  attended  Dulcie  on  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Faw- 
cett,  and  knew,  therefore,  something  about  Mr.  Trevor 
and  her  young  lady's  predilection  for  him.  He  had 
spoken  very  pleasantly  to  her  on  one  or  two  occasions 
when  they  had  met  on  the  staircase,  and  civil  words  from 
good-looking  young  men  always  produced  their  full  effect 
on  her  sympathetic  nature.  Dulcie  had,  therefore,  no 
need  of  preliminary  statement  or  explanation;  so,  the 
moment  they  issued  from  the  portals  of  the  house,  she 
broke  the  ice. 

"  Morton,  what  a  shame  of  you  to  take  my  letter  to 
mamma  this  morning !" 

"Lor,  miss,"  expostulated  Morton,  "what  was  I  to  do? 
Your  ma  told  me  to  bring  her  all  the  letters  ;  and  how 
was  I  to  know  anything  about  it,  or  that  you  hadn't 
asked  her  to  look  at  yours,  as  she  is  earlier  than  you  ?" 

"You  might  have  been  sharp  enough  to  guess,"  said 
Dulcie,  not  yet  propitiated. 

"  Well,  miss,  but  you've  never  had  a  letter  from  a  gen- 
tleman in  your  life  before,"  protested  Morton. 

"All  the  more  reason  I  should  have  it  brought  me 
when  it  did  come  !"  retorted  Dulcie.  "  I  call  it  most  un- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  15 

kind  and  unfair  of  mamma,  and  I  don't  see  what  right 
she  has  to  open  my  letters.  You  remember  that  nice  Mr 
Trevor  at  Lowlands,  Morton  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Well,  he  called  yesterday,  and  mamma  was  very  stiff 
and  formal  with  him,  and,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  no 
one  else  came  in,  and  I  could  not  get  a  word  alone  with 
him.  So  then  he  went  off  to  his  club  and  wrote  to  me." 

"  Lor !"  said  Morton,  again  making  use  of  her  favorite 
ejaculation.  "And  your  ma  opened  it?" 

"  Of  course  there  was  nothing  in  it  that  mamma  might 
not  see,"  observed  Dulcie.  "  He  was  much  too  clever  for 
that.  He  first  made  an  excuse  about  sending  me  a  song, 
and  asked  whether  he  might  not  go  to  a  play  with  us,  or 
if  we  did  not  walk  in  the  Bow.  Mamma  made  me  write 
the  most  horrid  letter  in  answer,  but —  Swear,  Morton, 
you  won't  tell  if  I  tell  you  something  ?" 

Morton's  eyes  gleamed  with  interest  and  curiosity. 

"  I  won't  tell,"  she  answered,  promptly. 

Dulcie  drew  the  letter  from  her  pocket. 

"  I  have  written  him  another,"  she  said,  triumphantly. 

They  were  close  to  a  pillar-box,  and  she  hurried  a  step 
forward  and  popped  it  in.  Morton  gasped.  She  had 
never  suspected  her  young  lady  to  be  capable  of  such 
temerity. 

"  Oh,  dear !  what  would  your  ma  say,  if  she  knew  ?" 

"  But  she  won't  know,  unless  you  tell  her,"  replied 
Dulcie;  "and  you  couldn't  be  such  a  wretch  as  that. 
And,  what  is  more,  you  are  to  do  something  very  impor- 
tant indeed  for  us." 

"  I  am  ?"  said  Morton,  flattered. 

Dulcie  sank  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"He  is  going  to  write  to  me  and  direct  the  letters  to 
you." 

Morton  looked  rather  overwhelmed  for  a  moment.  But 
she  soon  made  up  her  mind  to  play  Nurse  to  this  Borneo 
and  Juliet,  and  took  the  utmost  interest  in  the  little  drama 
she  was  to  assist  at. 

"  You  see,  he  will  be  going  away  in  a  month  or  two," 
said  Dulcie,  judiciously  suppressing  any  mention  of  serious 
intentions,  "  to  India." 

"  Poor  young  gentleman !"  remarked  Morton,  patheti- 


16  ONCE  AGAIN. 

cally.  "  Very  likely  he'll  never  come  back,  or,  if  he  does, 
he'll  be  as  yaller  as  a  guinea." 

In  the  evening,  as  Dulcie  sat  reading  her  novel,  and  Mrs. 
Vernon  gently  dozed,  the  postman's  thunder  was  heard, 
and  an  intuition  made  Dulcie's  breast  palpitate  at  the 
thought  that  something  very  precious  had  found  its  way 
into  the  house  through  the  slit  in  the  door. 

She  dared  not  go  in  quest  of  it,  but  remained  on  tenter- 
hooks whilst  the  butler  brought  up  a  couple  of  letters  for 
her  mother,  and  departed  again.  Two  or  three  minutes 
elapsed,  then  the  door  opened  softly  to  admit  Morton  with 
a  suspiciously  demure  countenance.  She  came  up  to  Dul- 
cie, and,  under  pretext  of  not  disturbing  Mrs.  Vernon, 
whispered, — 

"  I  came  to  ask  you,  miss,  where  you  would  like  the 
bows  put  on  that  lace  skirt."  And  then  she  gave  a  signifi- 
cant little  nod  and  pointed  to  her  pocket. 

"I  will  come  and  show  you,"  replied  Dulcie,  rising 
promptly  ;  and  the  conspirators  went  out  together. 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  good  Morton !"  cried  Dulcie,  in  a  sup- 
pressed whisper,  as  the  maid  handed  her  a  substantial 
letter  addressed  to  Mrs.  Morton. 

"  I've  lighted  your  candles,"  said  the  maid,  and  pro 
ceeded  down-stairs  to  resume  her  supper,  without  any 
further  allusion  to  dress  or  bows. 

And  Dulcie,  locking  herself  in  her  room,  read  her  first 
love-letter  with  an  ecstasy  which  I  need  not  perhaps  pause 
to  describe.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  missive  was  not 
original,  and  that  the  word  "  darling"  did  not  recur  more 
than  twelve  times. 

No  uneasy  prescience  of  evil,  no  misgiving  of  any  sort 
or  kind,  visited  Mrs.  Vernon  as  she  dozed  delightfully  in 
her  luxurious  chair.  Could  she  but  have  guessed  that  a 
few  yards  above  her  head  her  lovely  daughter's  breast  was 
palpitating  over  the  impassioned  sentences  of  her  young 
adorer,  or  shall  we  say,  as  mamma  would  have  said,  "  the 
idiotic  rhodomontade  of  a  penniless  young  fool"  ? 

Noel  expressed  his  intention  of  wearing  out  the  pave- 
ment (or  the  soles  of  his  boots)  in  Portland  Place  await- 
ing his  beloved.  He  had  always  hitherto  thought  it  a 
singularly  dull  street,  but  now,  henceforth  and  forever,  it 
would  be  the  most  heavenly  spot  on  earth,  etc.,  etc. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  17 

Strange,  Dulcie  reflected,  how  les  beaux  esprits  se  rencon- 
trent.  She,  too,  had  always  thought  Portland  Place  so 
dull ;  but  now ! ! ! 

As  in  this  world  there  is  always  an  alloy  to  bliss,  Dulcie, 
her  first  raptures  over,  began  to  be  tormented  by  fears 
about  the  weather.  The  climate  of  our  dear  old  England 
is  not  reliable,  especially  in  the  month  of  November.  Sup- 
pose it  should  rain  in  torrents  the  next  morning,  or  that 
the  new-found  El  Dorado,  Portland  Place,  should  be  en- 
veloped in  a  yellow  fog.  Weather  would  not  keep  Dulcio 
from  her  lover,  but  it  might  deter  her  mother  from  giving 
consent  to  the  accustomed  morning  walk.  Still,  there  was 
the  letter,  which  in  itself  was  sufficient  aliment  for  love  to 
feed  on  for  at  least  a  week,  and,  whenever  the  weather  did 
give  her  a  chance,  Noel  would  of  a  certainty  be  found  at 
their  try  sting-place  :  had  he  not  sworn  it ! 

With  light  heart  and  step  as  though  she  trod  on  air, 
Dulcie  returned  to  the  drawing-room,~naughty  Dulcie ! 
— looking  as  innocent  as  Miss  Puss  who  has  had  a  sur- 
reptitious lap  at  the  cream-jug. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  awake  by  this  time,  and  engaged  in 
reading  "  What  the  World  says." 

"By  the  way,"  she  remarked,  presently,  looking  up, 
"  did  not  I  hear  you  and  Morton  talking  about  your  dress  ? 
What  have  you  decided?" 

Dulcie  turned  aside  to  blush.  The  first  steps  along  the 
path  of  deceit  are  not  smooth  to  the  novice.  She  hesitated 
and  stammered  a  little,  and  was  terrified  lest  her  mother 
should  remark  her  confusion. 

"  It — it  is  not  quite — quite  settled,"  she  replied.  "  We 
think  we  shall  be  able  to  judge  better  by  daylight." 

Mrs.  Yernon,  having  just  arrived  at  a  paragraph  that 
interested  her,  did  not  remark  Dulcie's  embarrassment. 
After  a  considerable  pause,  she  asked  another  question. 

"  Did  the  song  come,  after  all  ?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  And  you  sent  off  the  note  ?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  What  is  the  song  ?" 

Dulcie  hesitated. 

"  '  Golden  Love,'  "  she  said,  reluctantly. 

"  But  you  have  it !     Let  me  look  !" 
b  2* 


18  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Dulcie  brought  it. 

"  And  set  for  a  contralto !"  remarked  Mrs.  Yernon. 

But  she  put  it  down  without  further  comment.  Of 
course  she  had  known  all  along  that  it  was  only  a  ruse  on 
the  young  man's  part.  But  he  must  be  rather  a  silly 
young  man. 

After  all,  the  fates  were  propitious.  The  following 
morning  was  bright,  and  even  sunshiny  as  sunshine  goes 
in  London  in  November.  Full  of  glee,  Dulcie  set  forth, 
accompanied  by  Morton,  on  whom  something  of  her  own 
excitement  was  reflected. 

"  If  your  mamma  was  to  find  it  out !"  she  said,  half-way 
up  Bond  Street,  in  rather  a  Cassandra-like  voice;  but 
Dulcie  pooh-poohed  the  idea  in  a  light-hearted  way. 

In  Cavendish  Square  the  impatient  Eomeo  was  pacing. 
It  was  a  sight  to  see  how  those  two  comely  young  coun- 
tenances were  transfigured  and  glorified  as  they  simulta- 
neously caught  sight  of  each  other.  The  romantic  Mor- 
ton heaved  a  sigh  which  halted  between  sympathy  and 
envy.  She  loitered  a  little  behind  ;  but  Dulcie  had  suffi- 
cient sense  of  the  proprieties  to  know  what  a  bad  effect 
this  would  have  should  they  by  any  unlucky  chance  be 
seen,  and  summoned  her  attendant  promptly  to  her  side. 
The  first  few  moments  of  natural  gene  over,  the  maid  was 
of  no  more  account  as  an  auditor  to  Noel  and  Dulcie  than 
the  wall  to  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  only  that,  mercifully, 
they  were  both  on  the  right  side  of  her. 

And  Morton,  pretending  to  look  the  other  way,  was 
listening  with  the  deepest  interest,  and  heard  every  word 
that  passed.  Indeed,  there  was  nothing  which  any  one 
except  a  mamma  with  ambitious  views  for  her  daughter 
might  not  have  heard ;  for  Dulcie  was  a  modest,  well- 
brought-up  young  lady,  and  Noel  was  animated  by  the 
most  honest  if  ardent  love,  and  looked  up  to  his  idol  with 
the  reverence  that  a  nice-minded  young  fellow  always  en- 
tertains for  the  girl  he  loves, — as  long  as  she  allows  him. 

Every  day  for  a  whole  week  Phoebus  smiled  his  wintry, 
far-off  smile  on  this  happy  pair:  their  hearts  supplied  the 
warmth  he  lacked.  Then  for  three  days  he  hid  himself, 
and  the  town  was  veiled  in  a  hideous  black  fog,  and  ono 
side  of  Portland  Place  could  not  see  the  other  side,  and 
Mrs.  Yernon  would  not  hear  of  Dulcie  going  out. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  19 

Morton  made  a  martyr  of  herself  in  a  good  cause,  and 
caught  a  severe  cold  by  going  to  meet  Mr.  Trevor  in  her 
young  lady's  place,  and  Noel,  generous  like  most  impecu- 
nious youths,  made  her  a  present  ill  proportioned  to  his 
means. 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  when  he  had  reached  the  highest 
point  of  love-madness,  that  a  friend  of  his  arrived  in 
London  en  route  for  the  Cape, — a  friend  not  possessed  of 
the  highest  principles  or  animated  by  very  nice  or  delicate 
scruples. 

For  three  days  Noel  had  not  set  eyes  on  his  darling 
(by  the  way,  this  delightful  term  of  endearment  is  get- 
ling  sadly  hackneyed  by  frequent  use  in  the  ballads  of 
the  day).  He  was  burning  to  talk  about  her,  after  the 
manner  of  his  kind  when  in  love,  and  he  pounced  on  this 
"  pal"  as  a  drowning  man  would  have  pounced  on  a  plank, 
and  poured  his  love  and  woes,  with  joy  unspeakable,  into 
the  ears  which  seemed  to  listen  kindly. 

He  was  only  interrupted  by  a  few  pertinent  questions. 

"  Has  the  girl  got  any  stuff?"  was  the  first. 

Noel  was  shocked  at  the  coarse  brutality  of  the  ques- 
tion. He  was  far  too  much  in  love  not  to  think  "  stuff" 
a  hinderance  rather  than  otherwise  to  the  charms  of  his 
adored  one. 

"  I  don't  know  or  care,"  he  replied. 

"  But  has  she  ?"  persisted  the  other. 

Noel  dared  not  offend  his  friend,  and  made  answer, — 

"  I  suppose  she  will  have.  She  is  an  only  child,  and 
her  mother  appears  to  be  very  well  off." 

"  Eun  away  with  her,"  said  the  friend,  tersely. 

Noel's  eyes  brightened. 

"'I  wish  to  heaven  I  could!"  he  exclaimed.  "But" — 
relapsing  into  despondency — "  there's  no  Gretna  Green." 

"  There's  the  registry  office,  which  is  a  good  deal 
handier." 

Noel  contemplated  his  friend  with  a  mixture  of  awe 
and  admiration. 

"  Nothing  simpler.  You've  only  got  to  swear  that  she 
is  of  age  and  has  no  parents,  and  to  give  notice  a  fort- 
night or  so  beforehand." 

"  But  could  not  one  be  had  up  for  perjury  ?"  gasped 
Noel. 


%()  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  The  registrar  won't  bother  his  head.  And,  once  it  is 
done,  it  can't  be  undone,  you  know." 

"  But  she  looks  so  young.'' 

"  She  can  put  on  a  thick  veil,"  said  Mephistopheles. 

Poor  Faust,  though  his  intentions  were  strictly  honor- 
able, felt  as  though  he  was  being  incited  to  the  blackest 
of  crimes.  But  the  temptation  was  overwhelming. 

Dulcie  to  be  his  I  Dulcie  to  go  out  to  India  with  him  I 
Oh,  rapture! 

His  friend  was,  as  has  been  said,  unscrupulous.  He 
had  a  liking  for  Noel,  and  thought  he  was  helping  him  to 
a  good  thing.  Seeing  the  impression  he  had  made,  he 
continued  his  persuasions  as  warmly  as  though  he  had 
some  personal  object  to  gain  by  Noel's  elopement.  And 
Noel,  after  the  first  shock  of  horror,  took  very  kindly  to 
the  idea;  and,  though  lying  and  deceit  were  extremely 
repugnant  to  his  honest  young  mind,  he  looked  leniently 
on  his  tempter's  argument  that  "  all  is  fair  in  love  and 
war." 

The  following  morning  a  brisk  wind  arose  and  dispersed 
the  fog,  and,  with  a  high-beating  heart,  Noel  flew  to  the 
rendezvous,  where  Dulcie  was  even  before  him. 

Noel  was  divided  between  rapture  and  timidity,  for  he 
held  Dulcie  in  that  awe  and  reverence  which  a  right- 
minded  young  man  feels  for  a  girl  in  whose  purity  and 
modesty  he  has  a  devout  belief,  and  he  trembled  lest  she 
should  turn  indignantly  upon  him  when  he  broached  the 
daring  scheme  that  his  friend  had  suggested.  Not  that 
he  was  going  to  shelter  himself  behind  that  friend :  it 
would  not  do  to  let  Dulcie  guess  for  a  moment  that  he 
had  discussed  her  with  any  living  soul.  Haltingly,  tim- 
orously, he  approached  his  subject,  and  presently,  encour- 
aged by  a  gleam  of  intelligence  in  Dulcie's  eyes  and  the 
smile  en  her  pretty  lips,  he  plunged  boldly,  fervently, 
ardently,  into  his  appeal,  and,  with  an  eloquence  of  which 
he  had  not  suspected  himself  capable,  implored,  urged, 
entreated. 

The  romance  and  daring  of  the  idea  commended  them- 
selves to  Dulcie.  Having  begun  the  downward  course  of 
deceiving  her  mother,  she  gathered  daily  fresh  impetus 
hi  her  descent,  and  was  almost  prepared  to  clear  the  re- 
maining  obstacles  at  a  bound. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  21 

Though  she  did  not  straightway  consent,  she  lent  an 
evidently  willing  ear  to  her  lover's  suggestions,  and  prom- 
ised to  think  over  what  he  had  said.  When  Noel  parted 
from  her,  he  seemed  to  tread  on  air;  in  his  imagination 
this  priceless  pearl  was  his  already,  and  he  bestirred  him- 
self to  consider  all  the  arrangements  that  it  would  be  ne- 
cessary for  him  to  make  in  view  of  this  ardently-desired 
union  with  his  beloved.  Naturally,  the  first  thought 
which  assailed  him  was  the  absolute  necessity  of  ready 
money.  He  had  only  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year  besides  his  pay,  and  to  forestall  that  would,  he  knew, 
be  madness.  His  mother  had  left  him  a  few  diamonds  and 
some  plate.  He  had  been  fond  of  her,  and  it  cost  him  a 
severe  pang  to  think  of  parting  with  these  things,  which 
she  had  set  great  value  on;  but  it  was  his  only  alter- 
native. 

It  was  rather  fortunate  for  him  that  he  took  his  friend, 
Captain  Black,  into  confidence  on  this  subject  also. 

"  I'll  see  to  it  for  you,  if  you  like,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a 
very  good  hand  at  a  bargain,  and  I  expect  you  are  a  pre- 
cious bad  one,  and  these  jewellers  are  the  most  confounded 
thieves." 

Noel  gratefully  accepted  this  offer  of  service,  got  the 
plate-chest  and  jewel-box  from  his  banker's,  and  intrusted 
them  to  his  friend.  He  was  exceedingly  pleased  when 
Black  the  same  evening  presented  him  with  bank-notes 
to  the  amount  of  two  hundred  and  five  pounds.  True, 
the  things  had  probably  cost  three  times  that  amount, 
but,  as  every  one  knows  who  has  the  smallest  experience 
on  the  subject,  buying  is  one  thing  and  selling  another. 
And  it  is  perfectly  certain  that  had  Noel  gone  bargaining 
himself  the  result  would  have  been  far  less  satisfactory. 
He  immediately  proceeded  to  expend  the  odd  fiver  in  a 
present  to  his  friend,  and  next  day  handed  over  the  greater 
portion  of  the  remaining  two  hundred  to  his  banker's  safe 
keeping.  Then  he  went  joyously  to  the  tryst  with  his 
beloved.  They  walked  to  the  inner  circle  of  the  Eegent's 
Park,  and,  as  no  one  else  was  visible,  Morton  fell  back 
several  paces. 

"  My  darling,"  said  Noel,  with  eyes  and  voice  full  of 
feeling,  "  I  hope  you  will  never  regret  trusting  your  dear 
self  to  me.  You  know  that  I  am  a  poor  man.  The  one 


22  ONCE  AGAIN. 

thought  which  troubles  me  is  that  you  may  miss  the  com- 
forts and  luxury  to  which  you  have  been  accustomed. 
You  know  I  should  not  consider  the  whole  world  good 
enough  for  you,  my  angel,"  cried  the  ardent  lover:  "it  is 
an  awful  blow  to  me  to  think  you  will  have  to  give  up  so 
much  for  my  sake." 

But  Dulcie,  with  a  bright  smile,  reassured  him. 

"  Indeed,"  she  pleaded,  prettily,  "  I  do  not  care  at  all 
about  money.  Mamma  has  talked  and  insisted  so  much 
upon  it  that  I  hate  the  very  idea  of  marrying  a  rich  man. 
I  am  not  worldly,  as  she  is,  and  all  the  people  I  have  been 
introduced  to  who  were  good  matches  have  been  horrid, 
stupid,  uninteresting  creatures." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Noel,  with  a  pang,  "  that  it  will  be  a 
dreadful  blow  to  your  poor  mother  losing  you." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  she  won't  like  it,"  assented  Dulcie, 
rather  unfeelingly.  "  But,  if  she  only  studies  her  own 
ambition  and  not  my  happiness,  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
consider  her  so  much." 

This  argument  comforted  Noel. 

After  one  or  two  more  interviews,  Dulcie  consented  to  the 
marriage  at  the  registry  office.  Captain  Black  was  arch- 
conspirator,  aider,  and  abettor. 

"  The  old  woman  will  be  in  a  deuce  of  a  rage  at  first,  of 
course,"  he  said,  consolingly,  "  but  if  she's  clever  she'll  prob- 
ably end  by  saying,  '  Bless  you,  my  children !'  and  making 
the  best  of  it.  After  that  she  will  no  doubt  *  fork  out/ 
which  is  the  great  point." 

If  it  had  not  been  for  this  Mephistopheles  always  at 
hand,  I  am  not  sure  that  Noel  would  have  carried  the 
matter  through  to  the  end,  so  stoutly  did  his  conscience 
combat  the  proceeding.  But  Black  argued  and  advised  as 
though  he  had  some  personal  object  to  gain  by  the  mar- 
riage. His  motive,  however,  was  simply  that  of  a  self- 
willed  and  resolute  person  who,  when  he  takes  up  a  mat- 
ter and  gives  advice,  feels  his  amour-propre  concerned  in  its 
being  acted  upon. 

Dulcie,  like  many  placid  and  amiable  people  without 
much  character,  was  extremely  tenacious  and  obstinate. 
She  had  taken  it  into  her  head  to  feel  aggrieved  and  re- 
sentful against  her  mother.  No  pang  of  remorse  visited 
her  on  the  subject  of  the  grief  she  was  about  to  bring  on 


ONCE  AGAIN.  23 

Mrs.  Yernon  :  she  told  herself  that  it  was  entirely  her 
mother's  fault  for  not  allowing  her  to  see  and  love  the 
man  of  her  choice.  She  would  not  be  sacrificed  to  any 
one's  ambition. 

Morton  was  the  one  to  be  flurried  and  anxious.  She 
foresaw  terrible  consequences  for  herself:  she  would  no 
doubt  be  discharged  without  a  character  when  the  denoue- 
ment occurred,  and  her  complicity  with  it  was  discovered. 
Still,  she  could  not  see  any  possible  way  out  of  it,  having 
ejone  so  far. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE  wedding-day  arrived.  Things  seldom  happen  in 
the  manner  which  we  anticipate,  and  Dulcie,  who,  like 
most  young  maidens,  had  occasionally  thought  of  herself 
as  the  heroine  of  such  a  ceremonial,  had  pictured  the  event 
as  taking  place  at  St.  George's  with  some  pomp,  a  bevy 
of  bridesmaids  and  troops  of  wedding  guests.  But  she  felt 
no  regret  on  the  morning  of  her  marriage-day  at  the  ab- 
sence of  these  conventional  circumstances ;  indeed,  the 
flavor  lent  by  strategy  and  secrecy  was  more  agreeably 
stimulating  and  exciting  than  mere  commonplace  prepara- 
tions would  have  been. 

Having  thoroughly  assured  herself  by  appeal  to  Noel 
that  marriage  in  a  registry  office  was  as  legal  and  binding 
as  though  it  were  performed  in  Westminster  Abbey  by  an 
archbishop,  she  troubled  herself  no  more  about  the  mat- 
ter, and,  indeed,  congratulated  herself  that  there  was  no 
fuss  and  trouble  to  be  gone  through.  Perhaps  a  shadow 
of  regret  stole  into  her  heart  at  being  compelled  to  forego 
the  trousseau-buying,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  was 
hardly  fair  she  should  be  done  out  of  wedding-presents,  of 
which  many  were  owing  to  her  in  return  for  her  own  and 
her  mother's  gifts  on  similar  occasions;  but  she  reflected 
that  people  who  had  consciences  could  just  as  well  send 
their  contributions  after  the  event  as  before. 

No  obstacle  intervened  to  prevent  her  being  at  the  place 
of  rendezvous,  where  Noel,  as  eager  and  gallant  a  young 
bridegroom  as  wintry  sun  ever  shone  upon,  received  her 


24  ONCE  AGAIN. 

in  a  seventh  heaven  of  bliss.  The  short,  unimpressive 
ceremony  was  gone  through,  and,  hey  presto !  Miss  Dulcie 
Yernon  was  Mrs.  Noel  Trevor. 

They  had  thought  it  expedient  to  put  the  sea  between 
themselves  and  Mrs.  Yernon  for  a  few  days,  and  immedi- 
ately stepped  into  a  hansom  and  ordered  the  man  to  drive 
to  Noel's  rooms  to  pick  up  his  luggage.  Morton  had  the 
night  before  taken  a  small  trunk  containing  some  portion 
of  her  young  lady's  wardrobe  to  the  railway-station,  to  be 
left  till  called  for.  Everything  seemed  to  favor  the  run- 
away couple.  Noel  wildly,  Dulcie  placidly,  happy,  were 
beaming  smiles  upon  each  other,  when,  lo !  Nemesis  over- 
took them. 

They  were  turning  a  corner  rather  smartly,  when  down 
went  the  horse  on  the  greasy  wood  pavement,  and  both 
were  flung  forward;  but  Noel,  throwing  his  arm  round 
Dulcie,  soon  put  her  back  in  her  place,  tenderly  reassuring 
her.  Meantime,  the  horse  made  two  violent  efforts  to  re- 
cover himself,  and,  having  gained  his  feet,  was  trotting 
off  again,  when  Noel,  hearing  an  exclamation  from  the 
driver,  looked  up. 

"  Good  God !"  he  cried,  "  he  has  slipped  his  bridle !"  and 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  thinking  only  of  Dulcie's 
safety,  he  made  a  dash  out  of  the  cab  to  get  to  the  ani- 
mal's head.  His  heel  caught  the  edge  of  the  platform, 
and  he  was  dashed  violently  on  the  pavement.  The  horse 
quickened  his  pace,  the  driver  shouted  for  some  one  to 
stop  him.  Dulcie  saw  two  or  three  men  run  forward,  felt 
a  sudden  collision  against  the  wheel  of  another  vehicle, 
was  again  flung  forward,  and  then  she  remembered  noth- 
ing more. 

When  she  came  to  her  senses,  she  found  herself  in  a 
rather  dingy  parlor,  with  two  strange  men  standing  over 
her.  Her  first  emotion  was  a  dull  surprise ;  then,  as  some 
recollection  of  the  events  of  the  morning  stole  across  her, 
she  was  seized  with  terror. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  What  has  happened  ?"  she  asked  of  the 
elder  of  the  two  men,  a  kindly,  rather  pompous-looking 
individual. 

"  You  are  in  good  hands,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  reassur- 
ingly. 

It  was  the  first  time  Dulcie  had  ever  been  addressed  as 


ONCE  AGAIN.  25 

"  ma'am."  The  color  mounted  to  her  cheek,  and  she  won- 
dered how  this  man  could  possibly  know  she  was  married. 
For  the  moment,  she  did  not  remark  that  her  gloves  had 
been  removed,  letting  the  wedding-ring  tell  its  tale. 

"Your  hansom  was  stopped  just  in  front  here, — quite 
providential,  one  may  say." 

"  And  where — ?"  gasped  Dulcie,  "  where — ?" 

"  Ah !  the  poor  gentleman,  you  mean.  He  is  at  St. 
George's  Hospital  before  now." 

«  Is— he— dead  ?" 

Dulcie  turned  ashy  pale,  and  looked  as  though  she 
would  faint  again. 

"No,  no,  no!"  replied  the  chemist.  "I  hope  not.  He 
has  got  a  severe  blow  on  the  head,  and  I  dare  say  won't 
be  conscious  for  some  time.  I  expect  he  has  concussion 
of  the  brain  ;  but  there !  he's  in  the  best  place  he  can  be, 
and  everything  that  can  be  done  for  him,  will." 

Dulcie  closed  her  eyes  for  a  minute  or  two  to  think. 
She  was  a  coward  by  nature, — quite  unfitted  to  stand 
alone.  When  she  gave  up  relying  on  her  mother,  she  had 
taken  Noel  as  her  support ;  but  now,  with  him  lying  in- 
sensible at  the  hospital,  what  should  she  do?  To  whom 
could  she  turn  ?  She  shrank  from  going  to  St.  George's, 
under  the  circumstances,  and  proclaiming  herself  his  wife. 
No ;  there  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  She  must  go 
back  home.  They  could  not  unmarry  her  now,  and  even 
her  mother's  anger  was  not  so  terrible  to  her  as  being 
thrown  alone  upon  the  world.  Besides,  she  had  only  a 
sovereign  in  her  purse. 

The  "chemist,  fearing  a  return  of  her  fainting-fit,  was 
again  applying  restoratives ;  but  Dulcie  was  perfectly 
conscious  now,  and  her  supreme  anxiety  was  to  get  away. 

She  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said.  "  I  am  quite  well 
now.  I  should  like  to  go  home  and — and  see  about  send- 
ing to  the  hospital  about  my — brother.  What" — hesita- 
ting, and  putting  her  hand  in  her  pocket — "what  am  I  in 
your  debt  ?" 

"Nothing;  nothing  at  all,"  returned  the  chemist,  em- 
phatically. "  I  am  very  pleased,  ma'am,  to  have  been  of 
service.  Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  see  you  home,  as 
you  seem  a  little  shaky  still  ?" 

B 


26  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  No,  thank  you  very  much,"  returned  Dulcie,  hurriedly. 
"  I  am  quite,  quite  well  now." 

"Shall  I  send  for  a  cab?  Best  have  a  four-wheeler,  I 
think,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  thank  you."  And  the  assistant  was  de- 
spatched to  stop  one. 

"Thank  you  very,  very  much,"  she  said,  when  the 
master  put  her  into  the  cab ;  and  he  replied, — 

"Not  at  all;  not  at  all,  ma'am.  Don't  speak  of  it. 
Where  shall  I  tell  him  ?" 

A  sudden  instinct  prompted  Dulcie  not  to  give  her  own 
address,  and  she  mentioned  a  number  in  Brook  Street, 
and,  alighting  there,  hastened  home  on  foot. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  alarmed 
at  her  daughter's  unaccountable  absence.  She  ran  to  the 
door  and  admitted  her. 

"  Why,  Dulcie — "  she  began,  sharply ;  then,  at  sight  of 
her  daughter's  white  face,  bent  bonnet,  and  disarranged 
dress,  she  paused,  aghast. 

The  conflicting  emotions,  anguish  about  Noel,  and  fear 
of  her  mother  were  too  much  for  Dulcie.  She  had  only 
time  to  totter  into  the  dining-room,  where  she  fainted 
again. 

Mrs.  Yernon  took  her  in  her  arms,  dragged  her  to  the 
sofa,  and  was  about  in  her  terror  to  summon  assistance, 
when  she  caught  sight  of  Dulcie's  hand  with  the  signifi- 
cant emblem  upon  it.  She  felt  as  though  turned  to  stone ; 
then,  stooping,  she  drew  it  from  the  unresisting  hand, 
slipped  it  into  her  pocket,  and  rang  the  bell  violently. 
.Running  to  the  door,  she  bade  the  butler  bring  water,  and 
call  Morton  to  come  at  once  with  smelling-salts. 

Morton  came,  shaking  like  a  leaf.  The  moment  Mrs. 
Yernon  glanced  at  her,  she  saw  that  the  woman  looked 
guilty  and  frightened,  and  guessed  that  she  knew  of  the 
dreadful  catastrophe.  But  the  butler  was  in  the  room. 
He  volunteered  to  fetch  the  doctor ;  but  Mrs.  Yernon  was 
too  much  afraid  of  what  Dulcie  might  reveal  on  return- 
ing to  consciousness  to  risk  the  presence  of  a  third  per- 
son. 

Dulcie  was  not  long  in  recovering  her  senses  this  time, 
and  as  soon  as  she  did  so  fell  into  violent  hysterics.  She 
encouraged  them,  as  they  staved  off  explanations  for  the 


ONCE  AGAIN.  27 

time.  Mrs.  Yernon  had  sent  Morton  out  of  the  room  the 
instant  Dulcie  showed  signs  of  life. 

u  What  has  happened  to  you,  Dulcie  ?"  she  asked,  again 
and  again ;  but  Dulcie  only  moaned,  and  sobbed,  and 
turned  her  head  away,  refusing  to  answer. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  at  her  wits'  end.  All  sorts  of  fearful 
possibilities  chased  each  other  through  her  brain.  The 
suspense  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  She  left  Dulcie 
sobbing  and  gasping  in  the  dining-room,  and  summoned 
Morton  to  her  boudoir. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  in  her  coldest,  sternest  manner,  which 
was  indeed  very  awe-inspiring,  "  what  does  all  this  mean  ?" 

If  her  manner  had  been  less  severe,  Morton  would  prob- 
ably have  fallen  at  her  feet  and  confessed ;  now  she  was 
too  much  frightened  to  say  a  word,  and,  fearing  some 
dreadful  disgrace  for  herself,  some  vengeance  on  the  part 
of  her  mistress,  declared  and  protested  her  ignorance. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  not  deceived  for  a  moment ;  but  she 
had  a  cool  head  and  plenty  of  common  sense.  It  was  of 
vital  importance,  she  felt,  to  keep  this  dreadful  affair 
secret:  if  she  turned  Morton  out  of  doors,  as  she  felt 
inclined  to  do,  everything  would  come  out  at  once,  and 
there  would  be  an  esclandre,  a  thing  that  Mrs.  Yernon 
dreaded  even  more  than  smallpox.  So,  finding  nothing 
was  to  be  got  out  of  her  maid,  she  left  her,  and  returned 
to  her  daughter,  who  at  once  recommenced  the  sobs  and 
cries  which  she  had  suspended  during  her  mothers  ab- 
sence. 

Mrs.  Yernon  changed  her  tactics.  She  asked  no  more 
questions,  but,  sitting  down  beside  the  couch,  bathed 
Dulcie's  forehead  with  eau-de-cologne,  and  endeavored  to 
possess  her  soul  in  patience.  The  girl  would  have  to  be 
coaxed,  that  was  evident;  though  her  mamma  would 
have  infinitely  preferred  to  box  her  ears  and  assail  her 
with  bitter  words. 

It  was  past  luncheon-time,  and  the  butler  came  in,  and 
with  a  mysterious  and  sympathetic  air — he  had  lived 
some  time  in  the  family — asked  whether  it  should  not  be 
served. 

Mrs.  Yernon  assented. 

"  Do  not  let  James  come  in,"  she  said. 

James  was  the  footman. 


28  ONCE  AGAIN. 

In  kind  tones,  Dulcie's  mother  begged  her  to  eat,  or  at 
all  events  to  drink  some  wine ;  but  Dulcie  obstinately 
shook  her  head  and  continued,  like  Hezekiah,  to  turn  her 
face  to  the  wall.  Her  anxiety  about  Noel  increased  every 
moment ;  she  could  not  forget  seeing  him  hurled  to  the 
ground  ;  a  terror  seized  her  that  he  was  dead.  How  was 
she  to  find  out  ?  She  longed  to  see  Morton  and  implore 
her  to  run  to  the  hospital  for  news. 

"  I  will  go  up-stairs,"  she  said,  presently,  rising  slowly 
from  the  sofa. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  really  shocked  to  see  how  white  and 
ill  she  looked. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  my  dear,"  she  said,  putting  her 
daughter's  hand  through  her  arm. 

When  they  reached  Dulcie's  room,  the  girl  asked  that 
Morton  might  be  sent  to  her. 

Mrs.  Yernon  thought  best  to  comply  with  this  request, 
and  retired  to  her  own  room,  which  adjoined  her  daugh- 
ter's. Nothing  could  be  more  repugnant  to  this  lady's 
proud  nature  than  eavesdropping  ;  but  on  this  occasion, 
overpowered  by  anxiety,  she  crept  near  the  door  that 
communicated  between  the  two  rooms  and  listened  in- 
tently, in  the  hope  of  getting  some  clue  from  the  conver- 
sation of  her  daughter  and  Morton.  It  was  soon  evident 
from  their  smothered  voices  that  they  had  taken  this  con- 
tingency into  consideration :  only  a  word  here  and  thero 
was  audible:  it  was  by  the  tone  of  their  voices  alone  that 
the  distracted  mother  could  gain  any  hint  as  to  what  was 
passing.  Morton's  betrayed  fear,  anxiety,  curiosity,  Dul- 
cie's despair  :  her  sobs  had  begun  again. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  racked  with  apprehension :  she  must 
find  out  what  had  happened ;  and  she  presently  set  her- 
self to  think,  with  what  calmness  she  might,  over  the  best 
means  of  wresting  this  dreadful  secret  from  one  of  the 
pair.  She  saw  now  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  in  fright- 
ening Morton :  she  must  try  gentler  tactics. 

Descending  to  her  boudoir,  she  rang  and  desired  that 
her  maid  might  be  sent  to  her.  She  commanded  her  face 
and  voice  with  a  supreme  effort,  and  when  Morton  came 
in  looking  frightened  though  obstinate,  she  was  quite 
taken  aback  by  the  gentleness  of  her  lady's  voice  and 
manner. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  29 

"  Morton,"  began  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  I  am  very  much  dis- 
tressed to  see  Miss  Dulcie  in  this  agitated  state.  Of  course 
I  am  aware  that  you  are  to  a  certain  extent  in  her  confi- 
dence, and  I  must  put  it  to  your  good  feeling  whether  it 
is  right  that  I,  her  mother,  should  be  kept  in  suspense  and 
in  ignorance  of  what  has  happened  to  her." 

Morton  subsided  into  helpless  tears :  this  tone  of  appeal 
from  her  haughty  lady  affected  her  visibly. 

Mrs.  Yernon  saw  her  advantage,  and  pressed  it 

"  You  have  been  with  me  for  some  years  now,"  she  con- 
tinued, more  gently  still.  "  You  know  how  entirely  de- 
voted I  am  to  Miss  Dulcie,  and  you  surely  cannot  be  so 
heartless  as  to  let  me  go  on  suffering  this  dreadful  anxiety 
about  her.  What  is  all  this  mystery  ?" 

Morton  sobbed.  She  was  emotional :  every  word  Mrs. 
Yernon  uttered  pierced  her  like  a  stab.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  be  conscious  of  the  terrible  enormity  she  had  com- 
mitted, especially  now  that  this  affair,  which  she  had 
thought  so  romantic,  had  culminated  in  such  a  terrible 
catastrophe.  Her  superstitious  mind  saw  a  "judgment" 
in  it.  With  the  proneness  of  her  order  to  look  at  the 
darkest  side,  she  felt  sure  the  poor  young  gentleman  was 
killed. 

Dulcie  had  implored  her  to  go  to  the  hospital  and  make 
inquiries,  but  she  was  afraid  to  do  this.  Of  the  two  dread- 
ful alternatives,  she  almost  preferred  to  confess  her  par- 
ticipation in  Dulcie's  guilt  to  Dulcie's  mother  than  to  have 
the  terrible  secret,  with  perhaps  its  dreadful  consequences, 
on  her  mind.  At  worst  by  confessing  she  could  lose  her 
place,  and  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  Mrs.  Yer- 
non could  not  refuse  to  give  her^a  character  without  be- 
traying matters  which  she  would  not  care  to  have  dis- 
closed. 

So,  amidst  many  tears  and  sighs  and  groans,  she  related 
the  story  in  outline,  ending  with  the  death  (of  which  she 
was  quite  certain)  of  the  poor  young  gentleman.  Mrs. 
Yernon  was  absolutely  paralyzed  by  the  recital.  She  felt 
as  though  her  senses  had  been  stunned  by  a  violent  blow. 
Dulcie, — her  good,  obedient  daughter,  without,  as  she  had 
imagined,  any  will  of  her  own, — Dulcie  to  have  taken  a 
Btep  of  which  scarcely  one  girl  in  a  thousand  would  have 
been  capable !  She  had  never  protested  her  love,  never  re- 


30  ONCE  AGAIN. 

belled  for  one  moment  against  her  mother's  fiat  that  she 
was  not  to  see  Noel  any  more,  but  had  simply  walked  out 
of  the  house  and  married  him ! 

Kepressing,  with  an  almost  superhuman  effort,  her 
wrath  against  Morton,  she  said,  in  an  unnaturally  quiet 
voice, — 

"You  had  better  go  back  to  Miss  Dulcie,  and  remain 
with  her.  I  will  have  inquiries  made  about — at  the  hos- 
pital. I  suppose  it  is  unnecessary  to  caution  you  against 
allowing  a  word  of  this  to  be  known  in  the  house.  If — if 
Mr.  Trevor  is  killed,  perhaps  nothing  ever  need  be 
known." 

Morton  retired,  hardly  able  to  believe  that  no  worse 
thing  had  befallen  her. 

Mrs.  Yernon,  left  alone,  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  closed 
her  eyes,  and  gave  herself  over  to  meditation.  All  her 
fondest  hopes  destroyed, — her  ambition  crushed !  And 
what  dreadful  disgrace  might  not  come  upon  her!  If  this 
man  died,  there  would  probably  be  an  inquest.  The  whole 
thing  would  be  published  in  the  papers.  Her  daughter's 
name  would  be  dragged  through  the  mire.  Suddenly  it 
occurred  to  her  that  the  marriage  might  not  be  legal,  after 
all.  Dulcie  was  a  ward  in  chancery.  She  resolved  to  go 
at  once  to  her  lawyer,  who  was  an  old  and  trusted  friend 
and  a  bachelor.  Hastily  she  put  on  her  bonnet.  The 
brougham,  which  she  had  ordered  for  three  o'clock,  must 
have  been  at  the  door  some  time. 

Mr.  Benson,  her  solicitor,  had  chambers  within  ten  min- 
utes' drive  of  Grosvenor  Street.  She  was  fortunate  enough 
to  find  him  at  home  and  alone,  and  was  ushered  immedi- 
ately into  his  presence. 

"  Mr.  Benson,"  she  said,  the  instant  the  door  closed  upon 
the  clerk,  "I  am  in  dreadful  trouble." 

Mr.  Benson  had  never  seen  his  handsome,  distinguished 
client  so  agitated.  He  entertained  a  great  regard  for  her, 
— she  was  such  a  sensible  woman,  with  such  an  excellent 
head,  such  sound  judgment.  She  never  took  up  his  time 
when  he  was  busy  with  chattering  about  irrelevant  mat- 
ter, as  most  ladies  are  in  the  habit  of  doing,  but  always 
kept  to  the  point, — knew  what  she  wanted,  and  said  it  in 
a  few  words.  In  society  she  was  quite  different:  ex- 
tremely agreeable  and  conversational, — gave  excellent  din- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  31 

ners  and  undeniable  wine.  She  was  one  of  Mr.  Benson's 
favorite  clients,  and  he  was  sincerely  concerned  to  see  her 
in  trouble,  although  in  his  professional  capacity  he  was 
not  given  to  being  demonstrative. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he  said,  handing  her  to  a 
chair, — "very  sorry  indeed."  Then,  seating  himself,  he 
prepared  to  listen. 

Mrs.  Yernon's  habitual  self-control  wavered ;  her  voice 
trembled ;  there  were  even  tears  in  her  eyes,  so  terrible 
and  crushing  was  the  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  her. 
During  the  recital,  which  was  of  an  astounding  nature  to 
Mr.  Benson,  he  was  compelled  now  and  then  to  ejaculate, 
"  Dear  me !  dear  me !"  as  a  relief  to  his  feelings.  He  had 
known  Dulcie  from  a  child, — thought  of  her  as  a  child 
still, — a  good,  obedient,  well-brought-up,  pretty  child, 
thoroughly  under  her  mother's  control,  and  without  a 
will  of  her  own.  He  offered  up  a  little  mental  thanks- 
giving that  he  had  neither  wife  nor  daughter  to  bring 
misfortune  and  anxiety  upon  him. 

Mrs.  Vernon,  having  given  a  rapid  outline  of  her  dread- 
ful case,  attacked  the  all-absorbing  point  of  interest. 

" Surely,"  she  cried,  "this  marriage  cannot  be  legal. 
Dulcie,  being  a  ward  in  chancery,  cannot  be  married 
without  the  Lord  Chancellor's  permission.  And  she  is 
not  of  age.  The  man  must  have  told  all  sorts  of  deliber- 
ate falsehoods  to  get  the  registrar  to  marry  them." 

Mr.  Benson  looked  thoughtful  and  gloomy. 

"  Surely,"  cried  Mrs.  Yernon,  with  increased  agitation, 
"  I  have  heard  of  a  man  being  imprisoned  for  marrying  a 
ward  in  chancery !" 

"  I  am  afraid,"  remarked  Mr.  Benson,  despondingly, 
"  that  once  the  ceremony  has  been  performed  it  cannot  be 
annulled.  You  see,  the  responsibility  of  the  court  of 
chancery  regards  the  property,  not  the  person,  of  its 
wards.  I  believe  all  the  court  can  do  under  the  circum- 
stances is  to  summon  the  husband  to  appear  before  it, 
and  to  insist  upon  the  property  being  settled  in  a  manner 
which  it  approves." 

"  But  if,"  cried  poor  Mrs.  Yernon,  nearly  distracted — 
"if  the  man  has  told  all  sorts  of  lies  to  the  registrar!" 

"  On  that  point  I  am  not  absolutely  certain,  but  I  will 
make  inquiries  at  once.  You  say,  however,  that  the 


32  ONCE  AGAIN. 

young  man  has  sustained  serious,  perhaps  mortal,  in- 
juries. In  that  case " 

Mr.  Benson  paused. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  afraid  to  speak  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"  It  is  important  that  inquiry  should  be  made  as  to  his 
state,"  suggested  Mr.  Benson. 

"  Yes," "she  assented,  "  but  how  ?  I  cannot  send.  I  am 
only  too  anxious,  if  possible,  to  avoid  being  in  any  way 
brought  into  this  dreadful  business.  He  may"  (dropping 
her  voice)  ;'  die  without  recovering  consciousness." 

"  But  he  has  friends,  relatives,  I  suppose  ?  Do  you  not 
think  he  will  have  taken  some  one  into  his  confidence  ? 
Who  were  the  witnesses  ?" 

"  My  maid  and  the  registrar's  clerk,  I  believe." 

"Your  maid!  Dear  me!  dear  me!  that  respectable 
person  I  have  seen  with  you !  I  fear  there  are  no  longer 
any  trustworthy  servants  left." 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Yernon,  with  pardonable 
bitterness. 

u  I  think,"  pursued  Mr.  Benson,  after  a  lengthy  pause, 
"  the  best  way  will  be  for  me  to  call  at  the  hospital  my- 
self and  inquire  after  the  young  man.  I  shall  simply 
allow  them  to  imagine  that  I  was  a  by-stander  at  the 
time  of  the  accident,  and  call  to  make  inquiries  out  of 
sympathy." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  cried  Mrs.  Yernon,  eagerly. 
"  And  you  will  let  me  know  ?" 

"  I  will  come  round  to  your  house  afterwards,  as  though 
for  a  friendly  call." 

Mrs.  Yernon  drove  away  with  the  load  at  her  heart  as 
heavy  as  when  she  arrived. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

SOME  two  hours  later,  Mr.  Benson  was  ushered  into  Mrs. 
Yernon's  boudoir.  He  had  called  at  the  hospital,  had  seen 
the  house-surgeon,  and  learned  that  Mr.  Trevor  was  still 
insensible,  and  that  no  opinion  could  be  given  at  present 
whether  he  would  recover  or  not.  A  note-book  contain- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  33 

ing  several  bank-notes  and  cards  with  his  name  and  the 
address  of  a  military  club  had  been  found  upon  him.  The 
hall-porter  of  the  club  had  been  communicated  with,  and 
three  or  four  gentlemen  had  been  down  to  ask  after  Mr. 
Trevor.  The  cabman  stated  that  he  took  up  the  gentle- 
man and  a  lady  near  the  top  of  Berkeley  Square,  and  was 
driving  to  Duke  Street,  when  the  collision  occurred.  The 
lady,  Mr.  Benson  was  informed,  had  not  been  heard  of:  it 
was  believed  that  she  had  been  assisted  into  a  shop.  If 
she  was  a  friend  or  relative,  it  was  supposed  she  would 
have  sent  to  make  inquiries ;  but  Mr.  Benson's  interlocutor 
intimated,  with  a  significant  smile,  that  it  was  improbable 
she  would  be  heard  of  any  more. 

"  So  much  the  better!"  groaned  Mrs.  Yernon.  "Let 
them  think  anything, — anything  rather  than  the  dreadful 
truth  !  I  have  determined,"  she  went  on,  "  to  leave  Eng- 
land for  the  present.  If  this  frightful  affair  should  come 
out,  I  shall  never  hold  up  my  head  again." 

"  But,  my  dear  lady,"  replied  Mr.  Benson,  shaking  his 
head,  "it  is  impossible  to  conjecture  what  may  happen, 
and  I  think  you  should  certainly  be  on  the  spot.  If — 
if — "  hesitating,  "  Mr.  Trevor  should  recover,  and  the  mar- 
riage is  a  legal  one,  there  is  no  question  that " 

"  If,"  repeated  Mrs.  Yernon,  with  energy,  "  such  a  mis- 
fortune should  happen,  I  will  at  all  events  have  things 
done  decently  and  in  order.  I  shall  insist  on  a  formal  en- 
gagement, and  on  the  marriage  taking  place  in  church. 
And  then,"  with  a  burst  of  anger  she  found  it  impossible 
to  restrain,  "  they  may  go  where  they  please,  and  I  shall 
wash  my  hands  of  them  forever." 

Mr.  Benson  did  not  expostulate :  he  thought  his  client's 
irritation  was  very  natural  indeed  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  hope  for  the  best !"  he  remarked, 
soothingly ;  but  whether  the  best  meant  Noel's  death,  he 
scarcely  knew  himself. 

"  To-morrow  morning  I  will  go  to  the  registry  office, 
and  see  whether  the  proper  formalities  were  gone  through, 
and  if  due  notice  was  given :  if  not,  we  may  be  able  to 
question  the  legality  of  the  marriage.  Probably  the 
young  man  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  ask  for  the  cer- 
tificate, as  it  was  certainly  not  found  upon  him.  I  will 


34  ONCE  AGAIN. 

make  every  possible  inquiry,  and  should  strongly  advise 
you  to  elicit  as  much  information  as  possible  from  your 
daughter  and  the  maid.  I  will  also  call  again  at  St. 
George's  and  make  inquiry  for  the  patient ;  or  perhaps 
my  better  plan  will  be  to  ask  at  his  club.  You  may  rely 
upon  my  sending  you  the  earliest  information  on  both 
points." 

Then  Mr.  Benson  took  his  leave. 

Mrs.  Vernon  had  all  the  evening  before  her  to  reflect 
in.  Dulcie  remained  in  her  room,  with  Morton  in  attend- 
ance. Mrs.  Vernon  felt  the  greatest  repugnance  to  seeing 
her  daughter,  against  whom  she  was  deeply  angered. 
She  divined  that  all  the  obstinacy  of  Dulcie's  nature  was 
aroused.  She  was  conscious  that  the  betrayal  of  her  own 
feelings  would  be  unwise,  and  yet  it  was  impossible  to 
treat  the  girl  with  any  show  of  affection  or  sympathy. 
Of  the  latter,  indeed,  she  did  not  feel  a  particle,  and  sim- 
ply regarded  the  accident  as  a  judgment  on  an  undutiful 
and  headstrong  child.  The  one  vital  point  was  whether 
the  marriage  was  legal  or  not,  and  for  that  knowledge  she 
would  have  to  wait,  at  all  events,  until  the  morrow.  Angry 
as  she  was  with  Morton,  much  as  she  would  have  liked  to 
punish  her,  she  was  aware  that  she  was  more  likely  to 
learn  what  she  wanted  from  her  than  from  Dulcie,  and 
thought  it  better  to  make  her  the  medium  of  communica- 
tion between  herself  and  her  daughter.  And,  besides, 
knowing  how  people  of  her  class  are  prone  to  exaggerate, 
and  thinking  exaggeration  might  be  useful  in  this  case, 
she  saw  the  expediency  of  letting  a  good  deal  of  what  she 
had  to  say  to  Dulcie  filter  through  the  maid. 

When  Morton  came  to  assist  her  in  dressing,  she  re- 
marked, in  a  quiet  but  very  impressive  voice, — 

u  I  am  not  at  present  going  to  say  anything  about  tho 
manner  in  which  you  have  betrayed  my  confidence.  You 
have  helped  Miss  Dulcie  into  a  very  serious  predicament, 
the  consequences  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  foresee." 

Morton's  tears  began  to  fall. 

u  You  may,"  continued  Mrs.  Yernon,  severely,  "  havo 
been  the  means  of  ruining  her  whole  life."  (The  tears  be- 
gan to  rain.)  "  She  is  a  young  girl  quite  ignorant  of  the 
world.  Without  you  she  could  never  have  carried  out 
this  wild  and  foolish  project." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  55 

Hero  Morton  required  the  support  of  the  wardrobe, 
whilst  she  rubbed  her  eyes  and  nose  to  a  crimson  hue. 

"  The  accident,"  pursued  Mrs.  Yernon,  solemnly,  "  seems 
nothing  less  than  a  judgment ;  and  it  is  more  than  likely 
this — young  man  will  pay  the  penalty  of  his  life  for  his 
wickedness." 

Sobs. 

u  He  is  still  unconscious :  he  may  not  live  the  night 
through.  In  any  case,  the  ceremony  performed  to-day  is 
illegal,  as  he  made  false  representations.  As  Miss  Dulcie 
is  a  ward  in  chancery,  the  consent  of  the  court  is  required 
before  she  can  marry.  Any  one  marrying  a  ward  in  chan- 
cery without  the  Lord  Chancellor's  consent  is  liable  to  im- 
prisonment. You  can  tell  Miss  Dulcie  all  this,  and  what 
a  very  narrow  escape  she  has  had.  I  think  it  better  not 
to  see  her  again  myself  to-night.  If,"  as  Morton  still 
sobbed  hysterically,  "  you  wish  to  atone  for  the  dreadful 
injury  you  have  already  done  both  to  her  and  to  me,  you 
will  do  all  you  can  to  prevent  any  suspicion  of  what  has 
occurred  getting  abroad.  Above  all,  beware  of  going  to 
the  hospital  or  helping  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Trevor 
should  he  recover,  which  is  more  than  doubtful,  or  you 
may  be  had  up  before  the  Lord  Chancellor  for  aiding  a 
conspiracy,  and  may  find  yourself  in  a  very  serious  posi- 
tion." 

This  last  suggestion  nearly  terrified  Morton  into  a  fit, 
as  it  was  intended  to  do. 

She  went  back  to  Dulcie,  and  poured  such  a  terrible 
story  into  her  ears  that  the  girl,  who  was  a  thorough 
coward,  felt  her  grief  for  Noel  almost  swallowed  up  by 
her  fears  for  herself,  and  no  longer  tried  to  prevail  on 
Morton  to  go  to  the  hospital  as  she  had  previously  done. 
Indeed,  Morton  affirmed  her  belief  that  poor  Mr.  Trevor 
was  a  corpse  already,  and  wrung  her  hands,  bewailing 
her  own  weakness  and  wickedness  in  ever  having  allowed 
herself  to  be  persuaded  to  assist  in  such  a  course  of  deceit 
and  treachery. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Miss  Dulcie,"  she  said  (in  the 
afternoon  she  had  called  her  "  ma'am,"  but,  now  that  she 
no  longer  regarded  the  marriage  as  valid,  she  returned  to 
her  usual  mode  of  address), — "  why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  you  were  a  ward  in  chancery,  and  that  we  might  all 


36  ONCE  AGAIN. 

be  locked  up  in  prison  for  this  ?  I  call  it  cruel  of  you, — » 
and  me  who  has  my  bread  to  earn,  and  could  never  get  a 
place  again  once  I'd  been  in  jail !" 

"  I  never  knew  it  mattered,"  stammered  Dulcie. 

"  But  you  knew  you  was  not  twenty-one,  miss,"  said 
Morton,  "  and  you  should  not  have  allowed  Mr.  Trevor  to 
go  telling  a  pack  of  lies  about  you.  And,  though  I  don't 
like  to  think  it  of  him,  and  he  perhaps  lying  dead  this 
minute,  he  may  have  known  all  the  time  it  wasn't  lawful, 
and  may  have  enticed  you  into  it  so  that  he  might  back 
out  again  if  he  wanted  to.  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  go 
on  your  knees  and  thank  the  Almighty  for  that  accident, 
or  goodness  knows  what  you  might  have  come  to!  I'm 
sure  the  only  wonder  is  your  ma  hasn't  put  me  and  my 
boxes  outside  the  door  before  this !" 

Dulcie  was  dumb  with  misery.  To  have  lost  the  sym- 
pathy and  co-operation  of  Morton  was  almost  the  severest 
blow  of  all. 

Mrs.  Yernon  would  indeed  have  had  reason  to  congrat- 
ulate herself  on  her  diplomacy  could  she  have  witnessed 
the  scene  that  was  taking  place  overhead.  She  was  ter- 
ribly perplexed  and  distressed:  the  most  poignant  fear 
of  all  was  lest  this  disgraceful  story  should  get  abroad, 
and,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Benson's  opinion,  she  resolved  to  quit 
the  country  for  the  time  being,  even  if  she  were  com- 
pelled to  return  to  it.  On  the  one  hand,  she  pictured  the 
horrors  of  an  inquest ;  on  the  other,  Noel  recovered, 
coming  to  claim  his  wife.  Yes,  the  only  thing  for  it  was 
flight:  she  would  go  down  to  Dover  the  following  after- 
noon, and  proceed  next  day  to  Paris,  leaving  her  address 
with  Mr.  Benson  only.  But  lest  he  should  dissuade  her 
from  her  intention,  she  determined  not  to  communicate  it 
to  him  until  after  it  had  become  an  accomplished  fact. 

When  Morton  appeared  to  assist  her  in  undressing,  she 
put  a  few  more  questions  to  her.  Had  any  one  in  the 
house  the  smallest  suspicion  of  Miss  Dulcie's  meeting 
with  Mr.  Trevor  ?  No,  Morton  declared  eagerly  that  not 
a  soul  knew  of  his  existence  as  far  as  she  was  aware. 
What  explanation  had  been  given  of  Miss  Dulcie's  con- 
dition on  her  return  home  in  the  morning?  Morton  re- 
plied that  she  had  told  them  down-stairs  that,  having 
some  important  work  to  finish,  she  had  left  Miss  Dulcie 


ONCE  AGAIN.  37 

to  do  her  shopping  alone ;  that  her  young  lady  had  got 
into  a  hansom  to  come  home,  that  the  horse  had  fallen 
down  and  she  been  thrown  out,  and  that  Mrs.  Yernon 
was  very  angry  at  her  having  been  about  the  streets 
alone.  This  was  plausible  enough,  and  Mrs.  Yemen's 
mind  was  relieved. 

"  I  intend,  if  possible,"  she  informed  Morton,  "  to  leave 
London  to-morrow  afternoon.  You  can  be  putting  things 
together ;  but  on  no  account  tell  Miss  Dulcie  to-night." 

Morton  obeyed.  She  was  really  relieved  at  the  idea  of 
going  away,  so  frightened  was  she  lest  she  should  be 
summoned  before  the  Lord  Chancellor,  whom  she  vaguely 
thought  of  as  a  terrible  being.  Had  Dulcie  shown  a  bold 
front,  and  been  strong  and  determined,  she  might  have 
retained  her  influence  over  Morton ;  but  in  an  emergency 
weakness  despises  weakness  and  is  apt  to  turn  to  the 
strong,  and  Morton  went  over  to  the  side  of  her  mistress 
in  the  hope  of  securing  her  own  safety. 

Dulcie  had  not  the  smallest  anchor  of  hope  to  cling  to. 
Noel  was  lost  to  her ;  worse  thought  still,  Noel  had  be- 
trayed her.  If  he  were  killed,  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
in  the  afternoon  to  wear  widow's  weeds  for  him  ;  but  now, 
if  she  was  not  his  lawful  wife,  where  should  she  hide  her 
head  from  this  disgrace  should  the  story  of  it  get  about  ? 
She  was  in  a  truly  pitiable  state  of  mind, — a  wofully  pliant 
condition,  ready  to  be  moulded  as  her  mother  chose  if  she 
would  only  screen  and  defend  her. 

Dulcie,  having  little  common  sense,  being  utterly  igno- 
rant of  the  world  and  exceedingly  weak  of  character,  was, 
when  left  to  herself  in  a  difficulty,  like  chaff  before  the 
wind.  She  was  very  pretty,  and  she  was  amiable  by  nature, 
quite  fitted  to  take  her  part  in  the  world  with  a  strong 
protector  at  her  back,  but  as  helpless  alone  as  a  ship  with- 
out a  rudder.  Noel's  ardor  and  strength  of  will  made  her 
fancy  herself  strong  for  the  time ;  now  she  was  stranded 
on  rocks,  flung  hither  and  thither  at  the  mercy  of  the 
waves. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Yernon  had  a  letter  from  her 
lawyer.  Mr.  Trevor  remained  insensible.  The  marriage 
was  legal  and  binding.  She  at  once  decided  upon  flight, 
and  wrote  to  Mr.  Benson  telling  him  her  plans. 

"  I  shall  keep  you  informed  where  I  am,"  she  wrote, 

4 


38  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"but  I  do  not  intend  to  let  my  servants  have  my  address: 
therefore  I  shall  ask  you  occasionally  to  forward  my  letters 
when  I  write  for  them.  It  is,  of  course,  unpleasant  to 
awaken  suspicions  and  to  behave  mysteriously,  but  for  the 
present  I  have  only  one  object,  which  is  to  prevent  Mr. 
Trevor  following  us." 

Mrs.  Yernon's  butler  had  been  some  few  years  in  her 
service.  She  summoned  him,  and  informed  him  of  her  in- 
tended departure.  Her  tone  and  manner  were  so  natural 
that  the  man,  although  he  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that 
there  was  something  at  the  bottom  of  this  sudden  journey 
more  than  met  the  eye,  had  nothing  to  confirm  it. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  in  a  great  hurry,  Haynes," 
said  his  lady,  affably.  "  I  am  tired  of  this  fog  and  smoke, 
and  want  to  get  to  a  pleasanter  climate.  I  cannot  give 
you  any  address  at  present,  as  I  shall  perhaps  only  stay  a 
night  in  Paris,  but  will  let  you  know  as  soon  as  possible 
where  to  forward  my  letters.  We  shall  most  likely  re- 
turn very  soon :  be  prepared  to  hear  that  we  are  on  our 
way  back  at  any  moment." 

Mrs.  Vernori  saw  Dulcie  for  the  first  time  that  day  when 
she  got  into  the  brougham  which  was  to  take  them  to  the 
railway-station.  She  was  very  pale,  and  looked  utterly 
wretched,  but  her  mother,  instead  of  compassionating  her, 
felt  nothing  but  deep  and  bitter  anger  against  her.  Not 
a  word  was  exchanged  between  them.  Dulcie  was  fright- 
ened as  well  as  sullen,  and  Mrs.  Yernon  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  best  and  safest  plan  would  be  to  avoid 
all  mention  of  this  dreadful  matter  for  the  present.  She 
did  really  and  honestly  hope  that  Noel  would  die,  and  so 
free  her  from  the  most  terrible  dilemma  that  ever  hap- 
pened to  an  unfortunate  woman.  It  was  not  a  very  cheer- 
ful prospect  to  think  of  having  for  her  only  society  a 
companion  who  felt  for  her  and  for  whom  she  felt  a  smoth- 
ered hostility ;  and  she  resolved  to  hasten  at  once  to  the 
south  of  France,  where  she  would  meet  old  friends,  or 
make  new  acquaintances,  and  not  be  thrown  entirely  upon 
her  disobedient  daughter  for  companionship. 

Mrs.  Yernon  disliked  the  continent,  and  was  fond  of 
London, — particularly  fond  of  her  home.  She  liked  her 
own  comfort,  her  regular  mode  of  life,  the  pleasant  society 
amidst  which  she  moved.  Well  off,  the  mother  of  a  pretty 


ONCE  AGAIN.  39 

marriageable  daughter  who  had  a  fortune  of  her  own, 
her  position  had  been  a  very  agreeable  one;  but  now 
shame,  disgrace,  bitter  disappointment,  had  overtaken 
her,  and  she  felt  oppressed  and  worried  to  such  a  degree 
that  she  could  scarcely  contemplate  the  future  with  calm- 
ness. 

It  happens  occasionally,  by  a  merciful  dispensation,  that 
when  things  are  looking  their  blackest  some  consoling  in- 
cident brings  a  break  in  our  despair ;  and  now  a  simple 
though  very  fortunate  occurrence  came  as  a  perfect  god- 
send to  Mrs.  Vernon.  She  and  Dulcie  had  taken  their 
places  in  the  Dover  train.  Presently  the  door  of  the  car- 
riage opened,  and  two  more  ladies  were  admitted, — one 
quite  young,  but  very  sickly  and  delicate-looking.  She 
was  helped  in  by  an  older  lady  and  a  maid,  who  busied 
themselves  with  wraps  and  cushions  in  making  the  invalid 
comfortable. 

Mrs.  Vernon  at  once  recognized  in  the  mother,  as  she 
evidently  was,  a  once  intimate  friend  and  schoolfellow,  of 
whom,  however,  she  had  seen  nothing  for  years.  For 
the  moment,  this  lady  was  far  too  much  occupied  with  the 
invalid  to  remark  the  other  occupants  of  the  carriage,  and 
it  was  only  just  as  the  train  was  about  to  start  that  her 
eyes  met  those  of  Mrs.  Vernon,  and  a  sudden  light  of  rec- 
ognition and  inquiry  dawned  in  them.  Then  very  cordial 
greetings  were  interchanged.  The  daughters  were  pre- 
sented, arid  Mrs.  Vernon,  to  her  unspeakable  relief,  was 
no  longer  tete-d-tete  with  Dulcie. 

"  We  are  on  our  way  to  Nice,"  said  Mrs.  Chester. 
<:  To-night  we  sleep  at  the  '  Lord  Warden/  to-morrow  go 
on  to  Paris,  and  then  by  stages  to  the  end  of  our  journey, 
as  my  little  girl" — affectionately — "cannot  bear  much 
fatigue." 

Mrs.  Vernon  at  once  decided  that  she  would  make  her 
movements  agree  with  theirs.  Not  only  had  she  a  liking 
for  her  old  friend,  but  she  felt  it  would  be  everything, 
both  for  herself  and  Dulcie,  not  to  be  thrown  much  upon 
each  other's  society  in  their  present  mood. 

u  My  son  will  join  us  to-night,"  added  Mrs.  Chester. 
"Dear  fellow!  it  is  so  good  of  him  to  leave  his  hunting, 
and  he  dislikes  going  abroad  so  much  j  but  he  knew  we 
should  be  nervous  travelling  without  a  gentleman,  and 


40  ONCE  AGAIN. 

agreed  quite  willingly  to  take  us  and  fetch  us  home  again. 
We  cannot  get  on  without  him :  can  we,  Lilah  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;"  and  the  small,  wan  face  of  the  invalid 
lighted  up. 

"  You  have  only  one  son,  I  think,"  asked  Mrs.  Yernon. 

"  One  son  and  one  daughter.  And  this,  I  believe," — 
with  a  kind  look  at  Dulcie, — uis  your  only  treasure?" 

"  My  only  one,"  replied  Mrs.  Yernon,  trying  hard  to  put 
a  little  motherly  warmth  into  her  words  and  her  glance  at 
J)ulcie.  Dulcie,  too,  essayed  a  feebly  responsive  smile. 

All  the  way  to  Dover  the  two  elder  ladies  chatted 
together,  becoming  deeply  interested  in  their  reminis- 
cences of  by-gone  days.  The  meeting  gave  genuine  pleas- 
ure to  both.  Before  they  reached  their  destination  they 
had  agreed  that  the  journey  to  the  south  should  be  taken 
in  each  other's  company. 

Dulcie  was  amiable,  and  had  pretty  manners.  She  was 
kind  to  the  little  invalid,  and  helped  to  make  her  more 
comfortable;  and  Lilah,  who  was  very  much  attracted  by 
good  looks,  took  a  great  fancy  to  her. 

The  party  dined  together  in  Mrs.  Chester's  sitting-room, 
and  about  nine  o'clock  Sir  John  arrived.  He  had  succeeded 
his  grandfather  in  the  baronetcy,  his  father  having  died 
only  one  month  earlier. 

He  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  four  ladies  instead 
of  two  ;  but  it  was  evidently  an  agreeable  surprise.  And 
when  his  mother  hastened  to  tell  him  that  they  were  all 
going  to  travel  south  together,  he  expressed  frank  satis- 
faction. Dulcie  was  very  pretty.  He  liked  pretty  girls. 
She  had  a  pleasing  manner,  and  he  was  wont  to  pronounce 
manner  "  half  the  battle." 

For  his  own  part,  he  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  young 
fellow,  whom  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  mistake  for 
anything  but  an  Englishman, — with  blue  eyes,  remarkably 
good  teeth,  and  the  frankest,  pleasantest  smile  imaginable. 

When  the  party  retired,  after  cordial  good-night  greet- 
ings, three  at  least  out  of  the  five  congratulated  them- 
selves on  the  fortuitous  meeting.  Mrs.  Chester  thought 
it  would  be  so  nice  for  her  dear  boy  to  have  a  pretty  girl 
to  beguile  him,  and  reflected  how  pleasant  Mrs.  Yernon's 
companionship  would  be  for  herself;  Mrs.  Yernon  had  a 
load  taken  from  her  breast  on  being  relieved  from  a  pain- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  41 

ful  and  prolonged  tete-a-tete  with  her  daughter ;  Sir  John 
was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  travelling  with  pretty 
Dulcie.  Dulcie  herself  was  too  wretched  to  indulge  in 
any  pleasant  anticipations,  although  she  was  thankful  not 
to  be  left  alone  with  her  mother.  Lilah,  who  was  in- 
clined to  be  exacting  and  jealous,  was  half  afraid  that  she 
would  not  receive  her  due  share  of  attention  from  her 
adored  brother.  Morton's  satisfaction  was  unbounded. 
Instead  of  travelling  alone,  she  would  have  the  society  of 
tho  lady's-maid  and  footman,  and  this  agreeable  knowl- 
edge materially  assisted  her  to  return  to  her  usual  cheerful 
frame  of  mind. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  spite  of  this  piece  of  good  fortune,  Mrs.  Vernon's  feel- 
ings were  far  from  enviable.  Her  daughter  was  really 
married, — married  to  a  worthless  adventurer,  as  she  chose 
to  consider  poor  Noel.  Worldly  and  ambitious,  she  had 
determined  that  Dulcie  should  make  a  good  marriage,  and 
with  this  in  view  had  rejoiced  at  her  good  looks  and  had 
made  the  most  of  her  in  every  way.  She  should  marry  a 
man  of  wealth,  position,  perhaps  of  title.  Why  not?  She 
was  exceptionally  pretty ;  she  had  money  of  her  own  :  she 
might  marry  any  one.  And  now  this  fair  fabric  of  hopes 
had  fallen  like  a  house  of  cards,  dissolved  in  mist  like  a 
castle  in  Spain.  And  the  child  on  whom  she  had  placed 
all  her  hopes  had  not  only  disappointed  her,  but  had  dis- 
graced her  in  the  most  heartless  and  cruel  manner. 

It  seemed  inconceivable,  when  she  remembered  Dulcie's 
yielding  disposition.  She  had  never  shown  any  will  of 
her  own, — had  never,  at  all  events,  attempted  to  combat 
her  mother's :  how,  in  so  short  a  time,  had  a  man  gained 
sufficient  influence  over  her  to  cause  her  to  act  in  a  man- 
ner totally  opposed  to  her  natural  weakness  and  timidity  ? 
Then  Mrs.  Yernon  thought  with  a  pang  of  Sir  John  Ches- 
ter. He  was  not,  perhaps,  so  great  a  match  as  she  had 
imagined  for  Dulcie;  but  compared  with  Noel  Trevor  he 
was  a  splendid  alliance.  And  here  these  young  people 

4* 


42  ONCE  AGAIN. 

would  be  thrown  together  with  exceptional  opportunities. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  Sir  John  already  admired  Duleie, 
and  he  was  so  good-looking  and  pleasant  that  a  girl  could 
not  fail  to  like  and  be  attracted  by  him.  It  even  crossed 
Mrs.  Yernon's  mind  that  should  Sir  John  fall  in  love  with 
Dulcie  the  position  might  become  extremely  embarrassing. 
She  had  told  Morton  distinctly  that  the  marriage  was  null 
and  void.  Morton  had  of  course  repeated  this  to  Dulcie, 
and  Dulcie,  unable  to  communicate  with  ISToel,  and  with- 
out the  means  of  discovering  anything  for  herself,  was 
tolerably  certain  to  take  it  for  granted  that  she  was  free. 
Well,  the  man  might  die,  and  Mrs.  Yernon  most  sincerely 
hoped  he  would. 

The  next  day  was  fine:  the  sun  shone,  the  sea  was 
calm.  Sir  John's  attention  was  at  first  entirely  taken  up 
by  his  little  invalid  sister ;  his  strong  arms  carried  her  on 
board  the  boat,  he  placed  her  with  all  a  woman's  gentle- 
ness in  the  most  comfortable  position,  and  saw  that  she 
had  everything  she  could  possibly  want.  A  deck-cabin 
had  been  engaged  for  her,  but  she  preferred  to  lie  out  in 
the  fresh  air.  Her  mother,  the  maid,  and  the  footman 
hovered  about,  but  it  was  her  brother  who  did  everything 
for  her  and  to  whom  she  looked  to  supply  her  every  want. 
Her  eyes  watched  him  jealously  when,  having  devoted 
himself  to  her  comfort  and  said  many  gay  and  cheery 
words  to  her,  he  went  and  sat  down  by  Dulcie. 

Poor  Dulcie !  her  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  She  had  never 
yet  been  abroad.  As  she  watched  the  sunlit  cliffs  lessen- 
ing in  the  distance,  she  told  herself  that  she  was  leaving 
all  she  loved  behind, — leaving  Noel  dying,  perhaps  dead. 
A  superstitious  terror  crossed  her  that  this  was  a  judg- 
ment upon  her  for  having  disobeyed  her  mother :  almost 
for  the  first  time,  the  enormity  of  the  wrong  she  had  com- 
mitted dawned  upon  her.  She  and  Noel  were  to  have  gone 
to  Paris  together,  and  now  he  was  lying  in  a  hospital  and 
she  was  on  her  way  to  Paris  with  her  mother.  If  only 
that  awful  doubt  of  him  could  be  set  at  rest ! — if  she  could 
be  assured  that  he  had  not  deceived  her  willingly,  know- 
ingly ! — if  there  were  any  one  she  could  turn  to  for  coun- 
sel, in  whom  she  could  confide !  It  was  a  relief  to  her  at 
first  that  her  mother  made  no  reference  to  the  subject; 
she  had  dreaded  her  anger  unspeakably,  her  severe  re- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  43 

criminations ;  but  now  she  felt  this  horrible  uncertainty 
to  be  almost  worse. 

Sir  John  noticed  how  pale  she  was,  and  that  her  eyes 
shone  with  tears,  but  he  only  thought  that  she  was  pos- 
sibly suffering  from  physical  qualms,  knowing  what  deli- 
cate creatures  women  were,  and  that,  though  there  was 
no  motion  in  the  boat  worth  speaking  of,  it  was  possible 
she  was  feeling,  or  fancying  she  felt,  unwell.  So  he  en- 
gaged for  a  time  in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Yernon,  who 
exerted  her  very  considerable  powers  of  pleasing  for  his 
benefit,  and  only  returned  to  Dulcie  when  they  were  near- 
ing  Calais.  She  was  better  by  this  time  ;  the  fresh  air 
had  braced  her  nerves ;  his  face  was  pleasant  to  look  upon, 
his  cheery  voice  was  inspiriting,  and  she  was  able  to  smile 
at  him,  and  to  respond  to  his  remarks  with  something  of 
her  usual  manner.  For  Dulcie,  if  weak  in  character  arid 
not  to  be  classed  among  clever  people,  was  by  no  means 
deficient  in  intelligence,  and  had,  as  a  rule,  a  very  fair 
amount  of  small-talk  at  her  command.  And  during  the 
journey  to  Paris  she  was  not  insensible  of  the  advantage 
of  having  a  young,  well-looking  man  of  the  party,  anxious 
to  please  her  and  thoughtful  for  her  comfort.  He  was 
bright,  active,  alert,  saw  to  everything,  and  did  not  for  a 
moment  lose  his  good  temper  on  one  or  two  of  those  crit- 
ical occasions  when  a  travelling  Englishman  is  prone  to 
show  the  cloven  foot.  His  first  care  was  always  for  Lilah  ; 
and  after  her  the  other  ladies  came  in  for  his  attentions 
and  good  offices. 

Lilah  was  tired  out  when  they  arrived  in  Paris,  and  had 
to  be  put  to  bed  at  once :  the  rest  of  the  party  dined  to- 
gether in  the  restaurant  of  the  hotel.  After  dinner,  Mrs. 
Chester  went  up  to  Lilah,  and  Sir  John  suggested,  if  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Yernon  were  not  tired,  he  would  take  them  out 
to  have  a  look  at  the  shops.  Both  were  glad  enough  to 
accept  his  proposal :  each  has  a  horror  of  being  left  alone 
with  the  other.  Mrs.  Yernon  was  afraid  of  a  point-blank 
question  from  Dulcie  which  she  would  be  compelled  to 
answer  truthfully.  Dulcie  feared  her  mother's  reproaches. 
Sir  John's  company  was  a  godsend  to  both. 

The  night  was  clear,  and  not  cold  for  the  time  of  year. 
The  lights,  the  gay  shops,  the  entire  change  of  scene,  and, 
last  not  least,  the  young  man's  cheeriness  and  vivacity, 


44  ONCE  AGAIN. 

all  helped  to  put  them  more  at  their  ease  and  to  dispel 
the  dreadful  gloom  which  oppressed  their  hearts. 

When  Dulcie  retired  for  the  night,  and  referred,  in 
Morton's  presence,  to  the  late  terrible  event,  the  maid 
showed  herself  the  reverse  of  sympathetic,  and  said,  with 
some  shortness,  that  the  best  thing  her  young  lady  could 
possibly  do  was  to  forget  all  about  that  foolish  affair,  and 
to  thank  Providence  things  had  happened  as  they  did,  or 
what  a  position  she  might  have  been  in  now  !  For  Mor- 
ton, turncoat  that  she  was,  had  already  dismissed  Noel 
from  her  thoughts  and  affections,  and  had  begun  to  con- 
sider Sir  John  as  a  much  more  appropriate  suitor  for 
Dulcie.  So  she  discouraged  all  mention  of  Noel,  and  was 
not  in  the  least  moved  by  Dulcie's  tears  and  reproaches. 

The  next  day  Lilah  was  unable  to  leave  her  room. 
Fatigue  had  brought  on  one  of  the  severe  headaches  she 
was  subject  to,  and  she  remained  in  a  darkened  room, 
watched  over  alternately  by  her  mother  and  the  maid, 
and  was  only  able  to  bear  her  adored  brother's  presence 
for  a  moment,  when  he  was  admitted  to  kiss  and  press 
her  thin  little  hand  without  speaking.  He  was  therefore 
at  liberty  to  escort  Mrs.  Vernon  and  her  daughter  shop- 
ping ;  insisted  on  giving  them  luncheon  at  u  Yoisin's ;" 
drove  afterwards  with  them  in  the  Bois,  and  took  them 
to  the  theatre  in  the  evening.  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  knew 
French  thoroughly,  did  all  the  talking  that  was  required 
in  that  language,  and  explained  the  play  to  Sir  John,  who 
was  as  ignorant  of  French,  and  as  shy  of  speaking  it,  as 
most  young  Britons.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she 
was  one  of  the  most  delightful  women  he  had  ever  met 
in  his  life,  and  divided  his  attentions  almost  equally  be- 
tween her  and  Dulcie,  whom  he  thought  "a  dear,  nice, 
modest  little  girl  I" 

Golden  opinions  were  flying  about  all  round.  When 
Mrs.  Yernon  reflected  on  the  situation  and  on  possibilities, 
she  was  almost  driven  to  despair.  She  saw  in  Sir  John  a 
probable  suitor  for  Dulcie.  In  her  dreams,  perhaps,  she 
had  thought  of  a  son-in-law  of  higher  rank  and  larger 
fortune ;  but  this  charming  young  fellow,  this  devoted 
Bon  and  brother,  would  have  had  small  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining her  consent.  He  would  most  likely,  with  all  the 
opportunities  that  would  be  given  him,  fall  in  love  with 


ONCE  AGAIN.  45 

Dulcie  and  wish  to  marry  her,  and  Dulcie,  perish  the 
thought ! — Dulcie  was  a  married  woman  already,  and  that 
fatal  symbol  of  her  folly  lay  in  the  drawer  of  Mrs.  Yer- 
non's  dressing-case. 

A  dreadful  sense  of  uneasiness  stole  over  her  as  she 
remembered  how  she  had  given  Morton  to  understand 
that  the  marriage  was  illegal.  Dulcie  no  doubt  consid- 
ered herself  free ;  and  suppose  she,  forgetting  her  grief 
and  Noel  Trevor  in  time,  should  come  back  to  look  with 
iavorable  eyes  on  Sir  John !  Oh,  if  that  wretch  would 
only  die !  The  afternoon  of  her  arrival  in  Paris,  Mrs. 
Yernon  had  telegraphed  to  Mr.  Benson,  and  the  second 
morning  following  she  received  a  letter  from  him. 

"  Mr.  Trevor,"  he  wrote,  "  still  lies  in  the  same  critical 
condition.  I  think  you  were  a  little  precipitate  in  leaving 
England,  and  I  must  remind  you  that  you  ought  to  have 
apprised  the  court  of  chancery  of  the  marriage  of  Miss 
Yernon ;  also  that  before  taking  her  out  of  the  country  it 
was  necessary  to  obtain  the  sanction  of  the  court  to  your 
doing  so." 

Mrs.  Yernon  heeded  this  not  at  all.  She  was  out  of 
England,  thank  God  !  and  out  of  England  she  would  re- 
main. Dulcie  having  worked  upon  Morton's  feelings  with 
extreme  difficulty,  the  maid  ventured  to  ask  her  mistress 
whether  Mr.  Trevor  still  lived. 

Mrs.  Yernon  paused  a  moment  before  replying,  then 
said,  in  her  cold,  awe-inspiring  voice, — 

"  Mr.  Trevor  remains  in  the  same  condition.  If  he 
should  die,  I  will  tell  you ;  but  do  not  mention  the  subject 
to  me  again."  Then,  as  an  after-thought,  u  If  he  does  not 
die,  he  may  be  an  idiot  for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

Morton  made  the  very  most  of  this  suggestion,  and 
drew  a  lively  picture  to  Dulcie  of  the  horror  of  having  an 
imbecile  husband,  and  of  her  good  fortune  in  not  really 
being  his  wife.  The  idea  took  very  forcible  possession  of 
Dulcie,  and  made  her  thoughts  of  Noel  full  of  terror  and 
distress,  instead  of  the  love  and  sjrmpathy  which  had  char- 
acterized them  hitherto.  She  welcomed  anything  that 
distracted  her  from  these  dreadful  reflections,  and  laughed 
and  talked  to  Sir  John  with  a  gayety  which  he  little  sus- 
pected was  forced.  It  did  not,  however,  deceive  her 
mother. 


46  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Mrs.  Chester  was  delighted  that  her  dear  son  should  be 
so  well  amused.  Like  all  good  women,  she  was  a  match- 
maker, and,  although  she  had  everything  to  lose  and 
nothing  to  gain  by  his  marriage,  she  was  quite  prepared, 
when  his  choice  fell  on  some  nice,  good  girl,  to  say,  "  Bless 
you,  my  children !"  and  vacate  the  home  to  which  she  was 
so  fondly  attached.  And  Dulcie,  so  pretty,  gentle,  well 
brought-up,  seemed  a  daughter-in-law  eminently  to  be  de- 
sired. In  their  school-days  she  had  always  looked  up  to 
Margaret  Lockwood  as  a  superior  being,  to  be  admired 
and  respected:  a  girl  brought  up  under  such  a  mother 
could  not  fail  to  be  full  of  virtue  and  merit. 

Sir  John  himself,  though  not  shy,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
much  inclined  for  women's  society,  had  never,  so  far  as 
she  knew,  been  seriously  in  love  or  proposed  for  the  hand 
of  any  woman.  There  was  no  little  episode  in  his  life  of 
which  she  and  most  other  people  were  ignorant. 

At  one-and-twenty  he  had  for  the  first  arid  only  time 
in  his  life  fallen  desperately  in  love.  It  was  during  the 
first  season  he  spent  in  London,  when  his  mother  was 
living  quietly  at  home  in  the  country  and  knew  no  more 
of  his  doings  than  he  was  pleased  to  tell  her.  Sir  John 
was  a  thoroughly  honorable,  good-hearted  young  fellow, 
and,  as  his  fortune  would  have  it,  the  siren  who  fascinated 
him  was  a  married  woman.  She  was  handsome,  clever, 
and  several  years  older  than  himself.  For  some  little 
time  she  played  with  him  and  his  heart  as  she  would,  and 
the  condition  of  his  mind  halted  between  ecstasy  and 
misery.  With  his  strong  sense  of  honor,  it  was  intoler- 
able to  him  to  sit  at  the  table  and  take  the  hand  of  a  man 
whom  in  his  heart  he  was  betraying,  and  he  had  a  terrible 
time  with  his  conscience.  And,  as  it  does  not  often  hap- 
pen when  the  blood  is  in  its  heyday  and  the  siren  smiles, 
conscience  got  the  better  of  passion.  Jack  (by  which 
name  he  was  known  to  all  his  intimates),  having  fought 
a  valiant  fight  and  being  sorely  wounded  in  the  encounter, 
took  the  only  refuge  of  a  brave  man  in  such  warfare,  and 
fled.  He  went  to  America  for  three  months,  spent  the 
winter  down  at  home  hunting  vigorously,  and  took  good 
care  to  avoid  the  society  which  had  been  so  dangerously 
dear  to  him.  And  from  that  time  until  now,  though  he 
had  liked  and  admired  several  women,  he  had  never  felt 


ONCE  AGAIN.  47 

that  the  society  of  one  was  absolutely  necessary  to  him ; 
and,  knowing  how  severe  a  trial  it  would  be  to  his  mother, 
and  far  more  to  his  little  sick  sister,  to  leave  the  Hall,  he 
never  encouraged  himself  to  think  seriously  of  bringing 
a  new  mistress  to  take  the  reins  of  government.  He  was 
still  free  and  heart-whole ;  but  any  day  might  change 
this  happy  condition  and  deliver  him  over  bound  and  cap- 
tive to  the  charms  of  some  fair  maiden. 

Two  or  three  days  passed.  Lilah  was  pretty  well 
again.  Her  sharp,  jealous  eyes  saw  with  intense  dissatis- 
faction the  pleasant  familiar  terms  on  which  her  brother 
and  Dulcie  stood,  and  terrible  forebodings  haunted  her. 
She  was  silent  and  irritable ;  no  one  could  please  her. 
Poor  little  girl !  she  had  so  few  pleasures ;  her  lot  seemed 
so  hard  to  her.  Never  to  be  able  to  do  anything  like  any 
one  else  1  The  idea  of  not  being  first  with  her  idolized 
brother  was  unendurable,  and  the  possibility  of  leaving 
that  home  which  was  the  dearest  spot  of  earth  to  her 
increased  her  melancholy  and  irritability  fourfold. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  those  people  to  join  us  ?"  she  said 
petulantly  to  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Chester  returned  soothingly  that  she  thought  it 
would  be  so  nice  for  all  of  them  to  have  pleasant  compan- 
ions. But  Lilah  answered  with  irritation  that  it  was  not 
at  all  nice,-*— that  they  took  Johnnie  away  from  her,  and 
that  most  likely  they  would  do  all  they  could  to  catch 
him,  and  that  she  and  her  mother  would  be  turned  out 
of  their  dear,  darling  home,  and  then  perhaps  she  (her 
mother)  would  be  pleased  with  what  she  had  done !  And 
poor  Lilah  began  to  cry  bitterly,  and  Mrs.  Chester  was  at 
her  wits'  end  to  pacify  her.  Lilah  was  even  irritable  to 
her  brother;  but  he  was  so  kind  and  forbearing  that  it 
was  impossible  to  remain  angry  with  him:  she  therefore 
contented  herself  by  increasing  her  exactions  fourfold  and 
insisting  on  his  company  at  ail  times  and  seasons. 

Not  selfish,  as  many  men  are  in  their  youth  and  strength, 
he  was  so  pitying  and  tender  towards  her  frailness  ^and 
weakness  that  many  a  time  he  yielded  to  her  exactions 
with  the  kindest  grace  in  the  world  when  he  would  fain 
have  been  doing  something  else.  And  he  was  rewarded 
by  the  clasp  of  that  poor  little  thin  hand,  the  look  of 
adoration  and  gratitude  in  the  eloquent  eyes  of  the  suffer- 


48  ONCE  AGAIN. 

ing  girl  when  he  sat  beside  her  couch,  or  took  her  driving, 
or  unhesitatingly  obeyed  some  rather  imperious  and  per- 
haps inconvenient  behest. 

"  Poor  little  girl !"  he  said  tenderly  to  himself,  "  she 
might  have  been  the  strong  and  I  the  weak  and  sickly 
one !"  He  never  forgot  his  father's  words,  spoken  shortly 
before  he  died : 

•'Always  be  good  to  the  women,  Jack!  Be  kind  to 
them :  don't  be  selfish  ;  don't  do  things  as  if  they  were  a 
bore  and  a  trouble.  Young  fellows  are  apt  to  think  too 
much  about  themselves  and  their  own  pleasures.  Don't 
you  be  like  that,  my  boy.  Be  good  to  your  mother,  who 
is  the  most  unselfish  woman  alive,  and  be  kind  to  poor 
little  Lilah,  who  has  a  sorrowful  time  in  store  for  her, 
even  at  the  best !  If  in  another  world  we  can  look  down 
on  this,  think,  my  boy,  that  I  shall  be  watching  you,  and 
blessing  you  if  you  are  kind  to  them." 

And  Jack,  who  loved  his  father  dearly,  never  forgot 
those  words,  though  he  had  such  a  good  heart  that  even 
without  them  it  is  very  likely  he  would  not  have  failed 
in  duty  or  kindness  towards  these  weak  women  who  de- 
pended upon  him. 

After  three  days  in  Paris,  Lilah  was  well  enough  to 
continue  the  journey.  Their  next  halting-place  was 
Lyons,  where  they  stayed  one  night  only.  Lilah  detested 
travelling,  and  was  anxious  to  get  to  her  journey's  end. 
But  she  was  so  fatigued  when  they  reached  Marseilles 
that  two  nights  and  a  day  had  to  be  spent  there  in  order 
to  recruit  her  strength. 

Dulcie  was  charmed  with  the  bright  town  of  Marseilles, 
and  here,  as  Mrs.  Yernon  was  not  very  well,  she  and  Jack 
were  thrown  a  good  deal  in  each  other's  company.  He 
walked  and  drove  with  her  to  see  all  the  objects  of  in- 
terest, and  her  even  spirits  and  natural  brightness  par- 
tially returned  to  her,  and  she  began  to  forget  her  misery 
and  to  look  once  more  upon  the  bright  side  of  life.  The 
events  of  a  few  days  before  she  came  to  regard  as  a  night- 
mare. She  was  beginning  to  feel  indignant  against  Noel, 
who  she  now  taught  herself  to  believe  had  laid  a  trap  for 
her.  Morton  was  careful  to  foster  any  thoughts  unfavor- 
able to  the  poor  fellow  in  her  young  lady's  mind ;  and 
Dulcie  shuddered  with  horror  as  Morton  dwelt  on  his 


ONCE  AGAIN.  49 

possible  idiotcy,  and  related  her  own  experience  of  an 
imbecile  young  man, — a  member  of  a  family  in  which  she 
had  once  lived.  All  Dulcie  now  hoped  was  that  she  would 
never  see  or  hear  of  Noel  again. 

Mrs.  Vernon's  frame  of  mind  was  anything  but  pleasant. 
Her  tactics  had  been  almost  too  successful,  and  she  began 
to  1hink,  not  without  horror,  of  the  terrible  position  in 
which  her  daughter  might  find  herself  if  she  should  come 
to  be  attached  to  Sir  John  Chester.  Marry  him  she  cer- 
tainly could  not  whilst  her  husband  lived,  and  even  should 
he  die  it  would,  she  feared,  be  necessary  that  the  dreadful 
story  should  be  confessed. 

And  it  was  not  one  that  a  lover,  especially  an  honorable, 
straightforward  young  fellow,  would  like  very  much  to 
hear !  And,  besides,  Mrs.  Yernon  had  a  terrible  intuition 
that  Noel  would  not  die.  What  should  she  do  and  say  if 
some  day  Dulcie  came  blushing  and  smiling  to  tell  her 
that  Sir  John  had  proposed,  and  that  she  had  accepted 
him? 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  greatly  tempted  to  wish  that  Dulcie 
had  never  been  born,  or  that  she  had  succumbed  to  the 
attack  of  scarlet  fever  which  had  nearly  cost  her  her  life 
when  a  child. 

Her  heart  sank  as  she  watched  Sir  John's  manner  to 
Dulcie,  and  the  favor  with  which  Dulcie  seemed  to  regard 
him  in  return ;  nor  was  she  reassured  by  the  affectionate 
interest  Mrs.  Chester  displayed  in  her  daughter.  She 
read  plainly  what  was  in  that  guileless  lady's  mind,  and 
it  caused  her  to  groan  in  spirit.  Meantime,  she  heard 
from  Mr.  Benson  that  young  Trevor  was  alive,  and  would 
probably  live,  but  that  he  showed  no  signs  of  mental 
consciousness. 

"  If  things  go  much  further,"  said  the  distracted  mother 
to  herself,  "I  must  let  Dulcie  know  the  horrid  truth.'1 
Then  suddenly  a  thought  struck  her.  "  Reine  is  at 
Cannes.  I  will  get  her  to  come  to  us.  Perhaps  Sir  John 
will  fall  in  love  with  her." 

c       d  6 


50  ONCE  AGAIN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  morning  after  their  arrival  at  Nice  was  perfect. 
The  waves  dancing  in  the  sunshine  were  blue  as  the  vault 
of  heaven  which  they  reflected ;  the  sun  was  brilliant  as  a 
June  sun  in  England;  everywhere  children  offered  roses 
and  orange-blossoms,  bright  anemones,  and  great  violets 
for  sale.  Sir  John  escorted  the  ladies  into  the  town  in 
quest  of  gay-lined  cotton  umbrellas  to  protect  their  com- 
plexions from  the  too  ardent  gaze  of  Phoebus.  Once 
there,  they  lingered  to  look  at  the  corals,  the  laces,  the 
tempting  crystallized  fruits,  and  other  wares,  and  after- 
wards sat  and  sunned  themselves  on  the  Promenade. 

"To  think  of  this  being  December!"  said  Dulcie.  "I 
wonder  every  one  does  not  come  away  from  the  cold  and 
the  horrid  fogs  in  England." 

"  It  is  delicious,"  responded  Sir  John ;  but  in  his  heart 
he  thought  of  dull  gray  mornings  in  his  own  land  which 
were  more  exhilarating  and  spirit-stirring  to  him  than  all 
this  glamour  of  sunshine.  Still,  he  was  well  content  for 
the  present  to  be  where  he  was. 

"  We  shall  have  to  go  over  to  Monte  Carlo  and  try  our 
luck,"  he  proceeded,  turning  to  Mrs.  Vernon.  "When 
shall  it  be?  to-morrow?" 

"  To-morrow,"  responded  Mrs.  Vernon,  "  my  niece  Mrs. 
Chandos  is  coming  over  from  Cannes  to  spend  a  couple  of 
days  with  us :  so  I  must  be  here  to  receive  her.  But  that 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  go ;  and  perhaps  you  will 
take  us  another  day." 

"  Oh,  we  must  all  make  our  debut  together !"  he  laughed. 
"  I  am  not  a  gambler.  I  shall  lose  my  five  pounds  and 
then  come  away ;  but  it  would  bore  me  to  go  alone.  I 
only  care  for  the  outing,  and  an  outing  without  pleasant 
company  isn't  worth  having." 

"  I  shall  like  to  introduce  you  to  my  niece,"  said  Mrs. 
Vernon.  "  She  is  a  very  interesting  person, — clever  arid 
original." 

"  I  shall  be  charmed,"  he  replied ;  but  mentally  he 
opined  that  a  clever  and  original  woman  would  be  a  bore 


ONCE  AGAIN.  51 

and  a  wet  blanket,  and,  stealing  a  glance  at  Dulcie,  he 
thought  how  infinitely  preferable  was  a  pretty  little  girl 
like  this  with  not  brains  enough  to  make  a  man  feel  like 
a  fool  beside  her. 

"  She  is  a  poetess,  too,"  Mrs.  Yernon  continued,  adding 
to  his  disrelish  of  her  picture  by  every  word.  "Her 
po^nis  have  been  a  good  deal  talked  about, — very  much 
praised  and  very  much  abused,  which  is  a  certain  proof 
that  they  are  above  mediocrity." 

"  I  shall  be  horribly  afraid  of  her,"  returned  Sir  John. 
"Does  she  wear  spectacles  and  affect  the  divided  skirt?" 

"  Oh,"  chimed  in  Dulcie,  "  Eeine  is  very  pretty  and 
dresses  beautifully." 

"  I  do  not  think  the  words  '  very  pretty'  describe  her 
accurately,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon.  "  She  has  a  face  full  of 
charm  and  intelligence,  and,  if  she  likes  you  and  lays  her- 
self out  to  be  pleasant  to  you,  you  will  probably  think  her 
more  than  pretty." 

But  Sir  John  did  not  feel  drawn  to  the  lady  in  question, 
and  had  a  presentiment,  as  trustworthy  as  most  presenti- 
ments are,  that  he  should  not  like  her.  He  was  even 
minded  to  go  off  to  Monaco  alone  on  purpose  to  avoid  her. 

In  the  afternoon  they  went  to  the  Casino  and  listened 
to  the  band,  dined  at  the  table  d'hote,  and  spent  the  even- 
ing with  Lilah  in  the  sitting-room,  each  vying  with  the 
other  in  attentions  to  the  little  invalid. 

It  was  at  luncheon  the  following  day  that  Sir  John  saw 
Eeine  Chandos  for  the  first  time.  One  glance  showed  him 
that  the  impression  he  had  formed  of  her  in  his  mind  was 
totally  incorrect ;  in  ten  minutes  he  had  forgotten  that  she 
was  clever  and  a  blue-stocking,  and  thought  her  one  of  the 
most  fascinating  creatures  he  had  ever  seen.  She  was  not 
beautiful, — no !  that  was  not  the  word  that  expressed  her: 
he  felt  as  if  he  wanted  an  even  better  one.  Her  features 
were  small  and  delicate,  she  had  eyes  like  brown  velvet, 
her  hair  was  dark  with  a  dash  of  chestnut  in  it,  her  hands 
were  exquisitely  delicate.  She  smiled  at  the  young  man, 
whose  good  looks  and  frank,  pleasant  manner  pleased  her, 
and  she  talked  to  him  in  a  gay  strain  that  had  nothing  to 
remind  him  of  poetess  or  strong-minded  woman.  For 
Reine  was  the  most  impressionable  of  her  sex,  and  liked 
or  disliked  almost  at  a  glance. 


52  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Sir  John  pleased  her.  With  swift  intuition  she  saw  in 
him  a  suitable  husband  for  Dulcie,  and  was  prepared  to 
extend  a  cordial  welcome  to  him  as  a  member  of  the  family. 
As  for  him,  he  found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  taking  his 
eyes  from  her  face,  and  Mrs.  Yernon  was  quick  to  recog- 
nize that  the  mental  wish  she  had  formed  was  quite  likely 
to  be  fulfilled.  Any  maternal  jealousy  that,  under  other 
circumstances,  might  have  been  awakened  in  her  breast 
was  laid  now  by  the  thought  of  the  painful  complications 
that  would  occur  should  Sir  John  have  any  serious  ideas 
about  Dulcie. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Mrs.  Chester,  Lilah,  and  her 
brother  should  go  for  a  drive  that  afternoon  to  Yillefranche, 
and  Dulcie  had  been  invited  to  accompany  them.  Mrs. 
Yernon  and  Eeine  were  to  follow  in  one  of  the  delightful 
little  pony-carriages  which  abound  at  Nice.  Their  young 
charioteer  drove  from:  the  small  seat  at  the  back,  and,  as 
he  did  not  understand  a  word  of  English,  the  two  ladies 
were  able  to  converse  with  absolute  freedom. 

For  the  last  few  days  Mrs.  Yernon  had  deliberated 
whether  Eeine  should  be  informed  of  the  terrible  event : 
she  was  perfectly  trustworthy,  and  had  plenty  of  common 
sense,  but  still  the  mother  shrank  from  putting  any  one 
in  possession  of  this  miserable  secret,  though  it  weighed 
so  intolerably  upon  her  that  she  felt  that  to  share  it  would 
be  the  greatest  relief. 

They  were  driving  along  at  a  smart  pace,  and,  at  a  curve 
in  the  road,  came  in  sight  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  whose 
carriage  preceded  theirs. 

"  I  think,  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  Eeine,  gayly,  "  that  this 
looks  very  promising.  Sir  John  seems  an  extremely  nice 
young  fellow,  and  will  make  you  an  excellent  son-in-law." 

As  Mrs.  Yernon  made  no  reply,  Eeine  turned  to  look  at 
her,  and  was  surprised  at  the  gloom  and  despondency  ex- 
pressed on  her  features. 

"  Why,  auntie,  do  you  not  approve  of  him?"  she  asked, 
in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  I  approve  of  him  entirely,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Yernon, 
»<  but— but " 

"  Is  he  poor?"  asked  Eeine,  jumping  at  once  to  the  only 
possible  obstacle  she  could  imagine. 

Again  Mrs.  Yernon  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  looked 


ONCE  AGAIN.  53 

away  at  the  blue  waves  sparkling  so  merrily  in  the  sun- 
shine. Should  she  or  should  she  not  tell  Eeine,  was  the 
question  which  for  the  moment  absorbed  her. 

Eeine  was  silent  and  waited.  She  conjectured  some- 
thing of  the  doubt  that  was  passing  in  Mrs.  Vernon's 
mind,  and  forbore  to  influence  her  decision  by  pressing  a 
question.  She  affected  to  be  engrossed  by  the  scene 
around  her. 

Mrs.  Yernon  knew  that  silence  is  golden, — that  it  is  best 
not  to  confide  a  secret  that  tells  against  us,  even  to  a  sin- 
cere friend, — so  many  unforeseen  things  may  come  in  to 
change  friendship  to  coldness,  distrust,  rivalry;  yet  for 
once  this  strong-minded  self-contained  woman  felt  a  woful 
need  of  sympathy,  of  help.  And  she  really  trusted  Eeine : 
she  had  been  a  true  friend  to  Eeine  in  her  time  of  trial, 
and  Eeine  had  a  grateful  nature. 

At  last  Mrs.  Yernon  spoke. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  am  in  dreadful  trouble.  I  believe 
that  I  should  be  wiser  to  keep  it  to  myself,  and  yet  the 
burden  of  it  is  almost  too  much  for  me  to  bear  alone.  You 
are  the  only  living  being  with  whom  I  would  trust  this 
horrid  secret,  and  before  I  do  so  I  must  have  your  sacred 
promise  that  you  will  never  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  any 
one, — that  you  will  behave  as  though  you  were  in  entire 
ignorance  of  it." 

Eeine  laid  a  sympathetic  hand  on  her  companion's. 

"  Dear  auntie,"  she  said,  "  you  may  safely  trust  me.  I 
am  so  grieved  to  think  you  are  in  trouble." 

"  Promise  1"  repeated  Mrs.  Yernon,  with  a  show  of  ner- 
vous excitement  quite  unusual  to  her. 

"  I  promise  you  faithfully  and  truly,"  answered  Eeine, 
in  a  low,  clear  voice,  looking  into  her  aunt's  eyes  with  a 
gaze  which  spoke  absolute  truth  and  sincerity. 

"  1  can  scarcely  bring  my  mind  to  speak  the  words," 
uttered  Mrs.  Yernon,  moving  uneasily :  "  you  will  think  I 
have  taken  leave  of  my  senses.  Can  you  believe,"  with 
increasing  irritation,  "  that  wretched  girl  has  made  a  clan- 
destine marriage  with  an  adventurer?" 

Eeine  forgot  the  sea,  the  sunshine,  the  flowering  trees 
and  shrubs,  which  had  up  to  this  moment  delighted  her 
senses,  and  a  look  of  horror  that  was  absolutely  tragic 
crept  into  her  eyes. 

5* 


54  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Dulcie !"  she  stammered,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Yes,"  cried  her  aunt,  "  Dulcie, — Dulcie,  who  one 
thought  had  no  will  or  idea  of  her  own.  Nor  had  she," 
with  rising  indignation:  "the  man  found  out,  of  course, 
that  she  had  money,  and  worked  on  her  feelings,  and,  I 
suppose,  pretended  to  adore  her,  and  so,  one  morning, 
without  my  knowing  even  that  she  was  keeping  up  an 
acquaintance  with  him,  she  walked  out  of  the  house  and 
was  married  at  the  registry  office." 

For  a  moment  Eeine  was  speechless ;  then  she  said, — 

"  But  some  one  must  have  helped  her !  some  one  must 
have  connived  at  it !  Dulcie  is  the  last  girl  in  the  world 
to  plot  and  arrange  such  an  affair  for  herself." 

"Of  course  the  man  managed  everything,  and  Dulcie 
had  some  one  to  aid  and  abet  her  also, — the  valuable  Mor- 
ton." 

" Morton !"  echoed  Eeine.     "  But  she  is  here  with  you!" 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  aunt,  bitterly.  "  You  may  easily 
conjecture  that,  if  I  could,  I  would  have  turned  her  out 
of  the  house  on  the  spot  without  a  character ;  but  I  had 
only  one  idea,  and  that  was  to  keep  the  wretched  affair  a 
secret.  If  I  had  wreaked  my  anger  on  her,  she  would 
have  blazoned  the  story  abroad  in  revenge,  and  I  had 
great  hopes  the  wretched  man  would  die.  And,  after  all, 
she  has  been  useful  in  a  way.  I  have  never  breathed  one 
word  to  Dulcie  on  the  subject,  but  I  have  given  her  to 
understand,  through  Morton,  that  the  marriage  is  illegal." 

"But,"  interrupted  Eeine,  "how  did  you  get  her  away 
from  him,  and  why  do  you  say  you  hoped  he  might 
die?" 

Mrs.  Vernon  told  her  the  strange  story  of  the  accident. 
Eeine  listened  in  wonderment  that  absolutely  deprived  ner 
of  speech.  When  the  story  came  to  an  end,  she  had  only 
one  question  to  ask. 

"  But  are  you  sure  the  marriage  is  legal  ?  I  thought  a 
ward  in  chancery  could  not  marry  without  the  consent 
of  the  court." 

"  So  I  thought ;  but  Mr.  Benson  explained  to  me  that 
it  is  the  property  and  not  the  person  of  the  ward  with 
which  the  court  concerns  itself.  The  only  comfort  is  that 
he  will  not  be  able  to  touch  her  money :  they  will  see 
that  it  is  settled  upon  herself." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  55 

Then  Eeine,  with  a  woman's  instinct,  inquired  about 
Mr.  Trevor's  appearance ;  but  Mrs.  Yernon  was  far  too 
prejudiced  to  give  a  fair  account  of  him. 

"  A  most  ordinary  young  man/'  she  said,  "  with  nothing 
to  say  for  himself." 

"  But,"  cried  Eeine,  "  the  thing  which  baffles  me  is  that 
Dulcie,  after  such  a  strange  and  terrible  experience, 
should  seem  quite  herself,  quite  unchanged !" 

"  Dulcie,"  said  her  mother,  bitterly,  "  has  no  more  feel- 
ing than  that  rock.  Do  you  suppose  a  girl  with  a  particle 
of  heart  could  have  acted  to  a  devoted  mother  with  such 
ruthless  disregard  of  what  she  would  suffer  as  Duicie  did 
in  leaving  me?  One  can  scarcely  expect,  then,  when 
things  went  wrong  with  her  lover  and  caused  shame  and 
discomfort  to  herself,  that  she  would  retain  any  serious 
regard  for  him.  Besides,  mercifully,  she  is  under  the 
impression  that  he  had  entrapped  her  into  a  false  mar- 
riage." 

u  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  Eeine,  very  earnestly,  "  I  think 
she  ought  to  know  the  truth.  Suppose  that  she  and  Sir 
John  fall  in  love  with  each  other:  it  will  be  a  terrible 
predicament  for  every  one." 

"  1  will  not  tell  her  at  present,"  answered  Mrs.  Yernon, 
firmly.  "What  guarantee  have  I  that  she  would  not 
suddenly  take  it  into  her  head  to  run  away  from  me  and 
go  back  to  him,  or  write  to  him  to  come  to  her?" 

"  But,  if  he  recovers,  you  cannot  prevent  him  from 
claiming  her!" 

"  I  am  determined,"  replied  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  that  in  any 
case  this  marriage  at  the  registry  office  shall  remain  a 
secret.  A  regular  engagement  shall  be  gone  through.  I 
shall  pretend" — with  a  groan — "  to  give  my  consent,  and 
there  shall  be  a  decent  and  proper  ceremony'in  church. 
Oh,  Eeine !" — with  tears  in  her  eyes,  a  very  unusual 
symptom  of  weakness  with  her, — "  this  has  nearly  broken 
my  heart !" 

Eeine  was  the  most  sympathetic  woman  in  the  world. 
She  cried,  too,  for  pity  of  her  aunt's  grief,  and  used  every 
effort  to  console  and  comfort  her.  When,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  the  carriage  with  the  rest  of  the  party  turned 
and  passed  them  on  its  way  back,  and  Dulcie  smiled  and 
waved  her  hand  to  her  cousin,  Eeine  returned  the  gesture 


56  ONCE  AGAIN. 

gayly ;  then  she  leaned  back,  and  marvelled  how  it  was 
possible  for  a  woman  to  be  so  heartless  j  but  a  moment 
later  she  murmured  to  herself, — 

"How  fortunate,  oh,  how  fortunate  for  her!  Happy 
girl!" 

That  evening  the  whole  party  dined  at  the  table  d'hote. 
Lilah  persisted  that  she  was  not  tired,  and  was  so  eager 
to  dine  with  the  others  that  her  wish  was  not  opposed. 
Sir  John  sat  between  her  and  Dulcie;  the  three  other 
ladies  had  seats  immediately  opposite.  The  young  man 
chatted  away  to  Lilah  and  'Dulcie,  but  his  eyes  wandered 
frequently  to  Eeine.  She  was  more  than  pretty,  he 
thought.  She  looked  so  high-bred.  Her  hands,  he  re- 
marked, were  marvellously  delicate  and  well  shaped.  To 
meet  her  eyes  and  see  her  smile  gave  him  a  sensation  of 
delight.  Now  and  then  he  said  a  few  words  to  her,  and 
she  responded  with  the  charming  grace  she  always  used 
to  those  who  pleased  her. 

There  were  people  going  about  the  world  who  averred 
that  Mrs.  Chandos  was  a  proud,  haughty,  disagreeable 
woman,  who  gave  herself  great  airs  which,  considering 
her  unfortunate  position,  were  quite  unwarranted.  On 
the  other  hand,  those  to  whom  she  accorded  her  friend- 
ship and  sympathy  praised  and  belauded  her  in  a  manner 
almost  savoring  of  extravagance.  Sir  John  seemed  likely 
to  rank  among  the  latter  class. 

"  What  a  tremendous  mistake  I  made,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice  full  of  satisfaction,  to  Dulcie,  "  when  I  imagined 
your  cousin  to  be  a  blue-stocking  and  strong-minded ! 
8he  is  one  of  the  most  charming  women  I  ever  met." 

"Eeine  is  very  nice,"  replied  Dulcie;  but  the  words 
seemed  extremely  tame  and  unsatisfactory  to  her  auditor. 

"  Where  can  I  get  her  books  ?"  he  continued.  "  I  don't 
care  for  poetry,  as  a  rule,  but  I  am  sure  I  should  like 
hers." 

"  I  think  Tauchnitz  has  published  them,"  Dulcie  an- 
swered ;  "  but  you  had  better  not  talk  to  Eeine  about 
them.  Nothing  annoys  her  so  much  as  for  any  one  to 
allude  to  her  writings." 

"  Eeally !"  exclaimed  Sir  John.  "  It  seems  to  me  I 
should  be  so  awfully  proud  if  I  were  an  author,  I  should 
want  to  publish  the  fact  on  the  house-top.  By  the  way," 


ONCE  AGAIN.  57 

trying  to  assume  an  indifferent  tone  and  coloring  slightly, 
"  is  there  a  Mr.  Chandos  ?" 

Dulcie  caught  the  contagion  of  his  blush  fourfold,  and 
looked  exceedingly  uneasy  and  embarrassed. 

"  No,"  she  stammered ;  "  at  least " 

But  Sir  John  hastened  to  change  the  subject,  shocked 
at  having  asked  an  indiscreet  question. 

Then  he  relapsed  into  silence,  and  sat  wondering  what 

her  strange  answer  could  mean.  "No;  at  least " 

Surely  there  must  either  be  a  husband  or  not.  Could  it 
be  possible  that 

A  feeling  of  disquietude  stole  across  him.  Presently  he 
raised  his  glance  to  Reine's  face,  and  something  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes  gave  him  a  horrible  suspicion  that 
she  knew  what  he  was  thinking  about, — knew  what  he 
had  asked  Dulcie.  He  felt  miserable  and  ashamed  of  him- 
self; he  dropped  his  eyes,  and  thought  that  he  should  not 
dare  to  raise  them  again ;  then,  suddenly,  her  sweet  voice 
struck  gayly  on  his  ear :  she  was  asking  if  he  had  been  to 
Monte  Carlo  yet. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  eagerly ;  "  but  we  were  talking  of 
going  to-morrow.  Will  you  not  come  too  ?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment  before  answering. 

"  If,  whilst  you  are  all  in  the  gambling-room,  you  will 
leave  me  outside  to  enjoy  the  lovely  view,  I  will  go,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  at  all  keen  about  gambling,"  he  exclaimed, 
eagerly,  thinking  how  infinitely  he  would  prefer  to  stroll 
about  the  grounds  with  her.  "  I  shall  go  in  for  ten  min- 
utes and  try  my  luck  and  lose  my  money,  and  then  I  shall 
breathe  the  fresh  air  and  look  at  the  scenery,  and  I  hope 
you  won't  think  my  company  a  bore." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  not,"  replied  Eeine,  graciously. 

"  Then  it's  a  bargain,"  cried  the  young  man,  with 
sparkling  eyes. 

"  You  and  Dulcie  are  going,  of  course  ?"  said  Reine, 
turning  to  her  aunt,  and  Mrs.  Vernon  assented. 

"  Can  I  not  go  too  ?"  pleaded  Lilah,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  looking  eagerly  at  her  brother. 

"  Of  course  you  shall  go,  little  one,  if  you  are  up  to  it," 
he  answered,  kindly ;  but  Mrs.  Chester  gave  him  a  warn- 
ing shake  of  the  head. 


58  ONCE  AGAIN. 

The  next  morning  poor  Lilah  was  in  no  condition  to 
think  of  any  kind  of  gayety :  the  exertions  of  the  day 
before  had  brought  on  one  of  her  severe  headaches.  Sir 
John  could  only  just  creep  in  on  tiptoe  and  whisper  to  her 
that  the  very  first  day  she  was  well  enough  he  would  take 
her  over,  and  that  he  would  bring  her  back  a  "  fairing" 
this  evening ;  and  in  return  she  feebly  pressed  his  hand, 
unable  even  to  speak. 

Mrs.  Chester  remained  with  the  invalid, — indeed,  the 
excellent  lady  had  a  secret  horror  of  the  wicked  Monte 
Carlo, — and  Sir  John  escorted  the  other  three  ladies  in  a 
very  proud  and  pleased  frame  of  mind.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, forget  his  poor  little  sister,  and  on  the  way  said  to 
Eeine,  in  a  tone  very  much  subdued  from  its  natural 
blitheness, — 

"  Is  it  not  strange  how  in  this  world  some  people  suffer 
so  dreadfully  without  any  fault  of  their  own?  Look  at 
poor,  dear  little  Lilah,  nearly  always  in  pain.  She  is  as 
good  as  gold,  and  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly  !  And  here  am  I,  a 
great  hulking  fellow  who  does  not  know  what  an  ache  or 
a  pain  means !" 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  would  hurt  a  fly  either,"  replied 
Eeine,  smiling  at  him  with  a  benevolent,  almost  a  mater- 
nal, smile ;  and  indeed  she  felt  as  though  he  were  a  nice, 
frank  Eton  boy  and  she  a  middle-aged  woman. 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  quite  understand.  He 
liked  her  to  smile  at  him,  but  he  did  not  like  her  to  treat 
him  as  though  he  were  a  mere  lad. 

Eeine  changed  her  tone. 

"  It  is  very  sad  for  her,  poor  child,"  she  said.  "  But, 
oh  !  how  many  sad  things  there  are  in  the  world !"  And 
she  drew  such  a  deep,  deep  sigh  that  a  wave  of  pity  swept 
over  Jack's  sensitive  heart,  and  he  felt  that  she  herself 
had  some  dreadful  trouble  of  which  she  was  thinking. 
Her  eyes  wore  a  far-off  look,  and  for  the  moment  she 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  existence. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  59 


CHAPTEK  VII. 

WHEN  they  arrived  at  Monte  Carlo,  Mrs.  Vernon  and 
Dulcie,  escorted  by  Sir  John,  made  their  way  to  the  Casino. 
Heine  insisted  on  remaining  in  the  gardens,  and  was  proof 
against  all  entreaties  to  accompany  them  inside  the  build- 
ing. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  see  poor  human  nature  in  its  most  de- 
based form,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  It  is  bad  enough  at  its 
best." 

The  words  impressed  Sir  John  painfully.  He  did  not 
like  to  hear  pessimistic  views  from  such  charming  lips. 
But  he  smiled,  and  answered, — 

u  I  hope  you  won't  see  any  very  serious  change  for  the 
worse  in  us  when  we  come  out." 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  returned,  in  the  same  vein  ;  and,  with 
a  little  gesture  of  farewell,  she  turned  and  left  them  as 
they  entered  the  Casino,  and  went  into  the  gardens  to  a 
spot  whence  she  could  see  the  glittering  sea  and  the  sun- 
shine flooding  the  red  rocks. 

Her  thoughts  travelled  away  from  herself,  and  were  cen- 
tred upon  Dulcie  and  the  shipwreck  she  had  made  of  her 
life.  Heine,  in  spite  of  a  certain  amount  of  cynicism  and 
disbelief  which  suffering  had  infused  into  her  mind,  was 
rather  prone  to  credit  what  she  was  told,  and  had  accepted 
Mrs.  Vernon's  version  of  the  story  and  description  oi  Noel 
without  allowing  for  her  aunt's  prejudice.  She  took  it  for 
granted  that  Dulcie's  husband  was  the  needy  adventurer 
represented ;  and  she  thought  sorrowfully  of  the  fate 
which  awaited  her  poor  unstable  cousin. 

She  had  always  been  fond  of  Dulcie,  who  was  so  fair 
and  soft  and  pretty,  so  yielding  and  docile.  This  black 
sheep,  this  good-for-nothing  fortune-hunter,  would,  no 
doubt,  oppress  and  ill  treat  her,  unless,  for  pecuniary  rea- 
sons, he  found  it  advisable  to  behave  to  her  with  some 
show  of  consideration.  Why  were  women  always  com- 
pelled to  suffer  through  their  best  affections  ?  But  then 
a  sudden  thought  pulled  Heine  up  sharply.  Could  Dul- 
oie's  phlegmatic  nature  be  made  to  suffer  very  acutely  ? 


60  ONCE  AGAIN. 

It  was  only  about  ten  days  since  she  had  been  torn  from 
the  man  whom  it  was  to  be  presumed  she  loved,  or  thought 
she  loved,  and  yet  she  was  smiling,  amused,  and  evidently 
capable  of  taking  considerable  interest  in  what  was  going 
on  around  her.  And,  for  all  she  knew,  he  might  be  lying 
dead. 

And  now,  with  the  extraordinary  irony  in  which  Fate 
delights,  she  was  thrown  into  the  society  of  Sir  John 
Chester,  one  of  the  nicest,  pleasantest-mannered,  kindest- 
hearted  young  men  imaginable,  Eeine  said  to  herself.  His 
face  was  an  open  book :  only  to  see  his  kind,  tender  ways 
to  his  poor  little  sister  stamped  him  at  once  the  good  fel- 
low he  was.  What  a  smooth,  fair-sailing  voyage  might 
Dulcie's  life  have  been  with  such  a  helmsman!  Should 
we  ever  in  the  future  know  why  things  happen  with  such 
cruel  perversity  ? 

Her  reflections  were  broken  in  upon  by  hurrying  feet 
and  laughing  voices. 

"  We  have  found  you  at  last,"  said  Sir  John,  in  the  gay- 
est accents.  "  Have  we  been  gone  too  long  ?" 

Eeine  was  more  considerate  than  to  reply  that  she 
thought  it  could  be  scarcely  ten  minutes  since  they 
parted. 

All  three  faces  were  smiling  and  good-humored.. 

"  We  have  broken  the  bank,"  laughed  Sir  John,  opening 
his  hand  and  exhibiting  a  rouleau  of  gold,  and  the  two 
ladies  followed  his  example  and  showed  each  a  smaller 
one.  "We  have  won  thirty  pounds  between  us,"  con- 
tinued the  young  man,  gayly.  "  I  had  the  most  extraor- 
dinary run  of  luck.  I  played  first  for  myself  and  then 
for  the  ladies,  and,  by  Jove !  I  believe  if  we  had  not  stopped 
I  should  have  gone  on  winning." 

"  Then  you  were  very  wise  to  come  away,"  returned 
Eeine,  with  a  smile.  "  If  you  were  to  win  too  much,  it 
would  give  you  a  taste  of  gambling,  and  you  might  not 
be  able  to  tear  yourself  away  until  you  had  lost  every 
shilling  you  possess." 

Still  that  same  kind,  patronizing  tone,  as  if  he  were  an 
Eton  boy !  It  would  have  vexed  him,  if  he  had  not  been 
too  good-tempered  and  too  full  of  admiration  for  her  to 
allow  himself  to  be  ruffled. 

"Let  us  go  and  have  lunch,  shall  we?"  he  proposed: 


ONCE  AGAIN.  61 

and  the  ladies  assented.  Sir  John  went  on  a  little  in  ad- 
vance and  ordered  an  elaborate  dejeuner,  and  bought  a 
beautiful  spray  of  flowers  for  each  of  his  guests. 

"  It  would  only  bore  you  to  carry  bouquets  about,"  he 
explained  to  them,  "  so  I  chose  these." 

Heine  had  many  moods :  to-day  she  was  in  one  of  her 
brightest.  She  talked  with  vivacity,  was  amused  and 
pleased  by  everything,  and  Sir  John  was  lost  in  admira- 
tion of  all  she  said  and  did.  Mrs.  Yernon  observed  this, 
and  was  by  no  means  ill  pleased.  Were  he  to  fall  in  love 
with  Dulcie,  what  a  terrible  dilemma  she  would  be  placed 
in!  Unless — but  no !  if  Noel  had  been  going  to  die,  he 
would  have  died  before  this,  and  Mr.  Benson  would  have 
informed  her  of  the  fact  by  telegram. 

Dulcie  was  pleased  and  complacent :  all  she  wanted  was 
to  forget  Noel,  against  whom  she  felt  a  dull  sense  of  anger. 
Sir  John  was  kind,  and  she  liked  him,  but  she  had  no  de- 
sire for  the  present  that  either  he  or  any  other  man  should 
fall  in  love  with  her. 

Luncheon  was  scarcely  begun  when  Sir  John,  uttering 
an  exclamation,  started  up  and  hastened  to  greet  a  man 
who  entered.  A  hearty  slap  on  the  shoulder,  a  vigorous 
hand-shake,  followed  by  a  slight  colloquy,  and  then  Sir 
John  returned  to  his  party  beaming  with  smiles  and 
bringing  his  friend  in  tow. 

"  My  cousin,  Alwyne  Temple,"  he  said.  They  all  bowed, 
and  Eeine  remarked, — 

"  I  think  we  met  in  Home." 

Mr.  Temple  came  round  and  took  her  hand  with  more 
politeness  than  cordiality. 

He  was  a  remarkably  handsome  young  man,  tall,  well 
made,  with  clear-cut  features,  rather  dark  than  fair,  well 
dressed,  and  in  every  way  calculated  to  attract  observa- 
tion. His  manner,  however,  precluded  all  idea  that  he 
had  any  desire  to  be  observed :  it  was  perfectly  quiet, 
self-possessed,  and  self-reliant. 

Sir  John  bade  the  waiter  lay  another  cover,  and  the 
man  put  the  chair  and  serviette  between  the  two  younger 
ladies,  with  a  nice  and  sympathetic  consideration  of  pos- 
sible affinities. 

Sir  John  plied  his  cousin  with  questions,  and  it  was  not 
until  these  had  been  responded  to,  and  luncheon  had  made 

9 


62  ONCE  AGAIN. 

considerable  progress,  that  he  remarked  a  decrease  in 
Eeine's  vivacity.  Alwyne's  eyes  were  constantly  turned 
upon  Dulcie,  and  his  conversation,  when  not  given  to  his 
cousin,  was  entirely  devoted  to  her. 

It  then  occurred  to  Sir  John  that  Alwyne's  presence 
had  not  contributed  to  the  general  cheeriness,  but  rather 
the  reverse.  Before  his  arrival,  Eeine  had  been  the  life 
of  the  party ;  now  she  said  very  little,  and  her  eyes  no 
longer  continued  to  meet  his  as  they  had  done.  And  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  made  all  the  difference 
to  his  pleasure. 

Presently  Mrs.  Yernon  proposed  that  she,  with  Eeino 
and  Dulcie,  should  leave  the  gentlemen  to  smoke  and 
have  a  chat  whilst  they  looked  at  the  shops  and  strolled 
in  the  Casino  gardens.  But  the  two  young  men  showed 
no  disposition  to  be  left,  and  begged  that  they  might  be 
allowed  to  be  of  the  party.  Sir  John  made  his  way 
quickly  to  Heine's  side. 

u  I  want  you  to  help  me  choose  a  present  for  Lilah," 
he  said,  "  and  some  flowers  as  well." 

So  they  turned  their  steps  to  the  florist's  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  and  Eeine  selected  an  exquisite  basket  of  the 
choicest  blossoms  to  be  sent  to  meet  them  at  the  train. 
Then  they  went  into  a  jeweller's  and  bought  a  gold 
bangle  for  the  little  invalid.  The  young  man  was  dying 
to  present  a  souvenir  to  his  companion,  but  instinct  told 
him  that  it  would  not  be  accepted,  and  he  had  a  mortal 
awe  of  displeasing  her. 

When  they  emerged  from  the  shop,  the  others  were 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  This  delighted  Sir  John,  and  Eeine 
was  far  too  much  a  woman  of  the  world  to  feel,  or  affect, 
the  smallest  embarrassment  at  the  circumstance. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  tired  of  waiting,  and  have  gone 
on  to  the  gardens,"  she  said.  "  We  must  look  for  them." 

And,  side  by  side,  they  strolled  in  the  sunshine,  one  of 
them  unreasonably  happy,  the  other  placidly  content. 

Eeine  led  the  way  to  a  spot  commanding  one  of  tho 
loveliest  views,  just  beyond  the  Trente-et-Quarante  room. 
The  golden  roof  and  spires  of  the  Casino  and  its  gilded 
parapets  glowed  with  dazzling  brilliance  against  the  won- 
derful blue  of  the  sky,  and  the  Moorish  arabesques  orna- 
menting the  roulette-rooms  rose,  fairy-like,  from  the 


ONCE  AGAIN.  63 

groups  of  palms,  cacti,  and  aloes  planted  with  a  cunning 
eye  to  effect.  And  below  and  around  were  rocks  and 
wooded  ravines,  banks  of  exquisite  flowers,  glimpses  of 
coast,  sea,  and  sky  giving  an  indescribable  effect  of  gor- 
geous coloring  which  dazzled  the  senses,  and  yet,  like  all 
nature's  handiwork,  was  harmonious  in  its  richness  and 
beauty. 

Both  stood  and  gazed  in  silence.  Sir  John  felt  as  though 
a  new  era  had  opened  in  his  life.  He  was  susceptible  to 
the  beauties  of  nature,  but  to-day  these  were  enhanced  a 
thousandfold  by  the  charm  of  the  woman  at  whose  side  he 
stood.  It  was  as  if  the  sunshine  that  flooded  the  scene 
had  penetrated  his  heart  and  was  glowing  and  burning 
there.  But,  glancing  at  Keine,  he  felt  that  her  thoughts 
were  far,  far  away  from  him,  and  that  the  sun  was  not 
shining  in  her  heart.  He  longed  to  read  her  thoughts ; 
but  he  had  not  the  smallest  clew  to  help  him. 

Presently  she  moved  on  without  speaking,  and  he,  afraid 
to  break  the  spell,  followed  her  in  silence.  She  took  her 
way  to  the  first  terrace;  there  she  paused  and  looked 
round. 

"  I  do  not  see  a  sign  of  them,"  she  remarked.  "  Let  us 
sit  here  and  wait.  If  they  do  not  come,  we  will  go 
and  look  for  them  at  the  music.  It  is  lovely  here,  is  it 
not?"  she  added,  after  a  moment,  with  a  little  sigh  of 
satisfaction. 

"  It  is  heavenly,"  answered  the  young  fellow,  radiantly  ; 
but,  as  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  companion's  face,  it 
would  seem  as  though  his  remark  had  more  reference  to 
that  than  to  view  or  garden. 

Then  again,  for  the  space  of  some  seconds,  Eeine  seemed 
to  have  lost  herself  in  memory,  for  her  eyes  wore  the  far- 
off  look  which  Jack  had  already  observed,  and  a  wistful 
expression  crossed  the  face  he  thought  so  infinitely  charm- 
ing. He  did  not  venture  to  break  in  upon  her  reflections. 
She  came  back  from  dream-land  presently,  and,  turning, 
smiled  at  him. 

"  I  was  a  long  way  off,"  she  said,  as  though  answering 
his  thoughts.  "  I  have  a  trick  of  taking  flights  from  the 
present.  It  is  not  at  all  well-mannered  of  me." 

He  would  have  protested,  but  she  stopped  him. 

"So,"  she  remarked,  "Mr.  Temple  is  your  cousin?    He 


64  ONCti  AGAIN. 

is  very  good-looking.  As  a  rule,  I  have  a  strong  leaning 
to  good  looks." 

Jack,  in  his  honest  heart,  felt  something  almost  akin  to 
a  twinge  of  jealousy.  But  he  said,  cordially, — 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is  a  handsome  chap  :  women  generally  like 
him." 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  pursued  Reine,  in  a  reflective  tone, 
"  that  he  does  not  like  me." 

"  Not  like  you !"  echoed  Jack,  in  the  sort  of  tone  which 
he  might  have  used  had  some  one  brought  forward  the 
proposition  that  the  world  was  square. 

"  No,"  said  Reine.  "  But  that,"  she  went  on,  "  is  not  so 
much  on  account  of  anything  I  have  done  or  left  undone 
as  because  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  devoted  when  we 
met  in  Rome  detested  me,  and  probably  gave  him  a  bad 
impression  of  me." 

"  Why  did  she  detest  you  ?"  cried  Jack.  "  Was  she 
jealous  of  you?" 

u  There  was  nothing  to  be  jealous  of,"  returned  Reine, 
serenely.  "  She  did  not  even  know  me." 

"  Then  how  could  she  have  spoken  against  you  to  him  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know,"  said  Reine,  lightly,  "  that  the  people 
who  take  our  characters  away  are  always  those  who  do 
not  know  us  ?  The  lady  had,  I  believe,  made  some  little 
overture  to  being  acquainted  with  me,  but,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,"  and  again  Reine  looked  out  seaward,  and  that 
melancholy  expression  deepened  in  her  face,  "  I  do  not 
care  to  make  new  acquaintances.  I  like  to  have  a  few 
friends, — real  friends,  in  whom  I  believe,  who  believe  in 
me ;  and  beyond  that,"  with  a  little  gesture  of  her  hand, 
"social  intercourse  is  well  enough  just  to  pass  the  time, 
but  it  is  void,  hollow, — a  sham." 

Would  she  ever  let  him  be  her  friend  ?  Jack  wondered, 
eagerly ;  yet  he  did  not  dare  put  his  thoughts  into  words. 
She  had  relapsed  into  silence,  and  presently  he  ventured 
to  say  something  which  had  been  on  his  mind  all  day. 

"Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Chandos,"  he  began,  with  diffi- 
dence, "I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  saying  so,  but  I  want 
awfully  to  read  your  books*" 

Reine  put  her  finger  to  her  lips.  "  Hush !"  she  replied : 
"that  is  a  forbidden  subject.  I  do  not  pose  as  a  poetess, 
and  I  detest  any  one  to  speak  to  me  about  my  books." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  65 

Seeing  how  discomfited  he  looked,  she  continued,  in  a 
lighter  vein, — 

"  Besides,  I  am  quite  sure  poetry  is  not  in  your  line." 

Jack  was  far  too  truthful  to  deny  this  impeachment, 
but  he  answered,  with  fervor, — 

"  I  should  like  anything  that  you  wrote." 

She  gave  him  a  glance  which  was  almost  malicious. 

"  Do  you  like  what  is  immoral  and  atheistic  ?"  she  in- 
quired. 

Jack's  face  was  a  study.  Wonder,  doubt,  misery,  in- 
dignation, all  played  their  part  in  it. 

"  That  is  what  the  critics,  or  at  least  some  of  them,  call 
my  verses.  They  are  indelicate :  they  give  evidence  of 
being  written  by  a  person  to  whom  faith  and  modesty  are 
but  meaningless  words,  and  the  only  thing  they  have  to 
recommend  them  is  a  certain  swing  and  rhythm  probably 
caught  from  careful  and  protracted  study  of  Swinburne." 

Eeine  kept  her  eyes  on  Jack's  face,  but  it  was  turned 
from  her :  she  saw  the  red  color  rise  in  it  and  his  hand 
involuntarily  clinch  round  his  stick.  Her  own  face  had 
flushed :  she  chose  to  repeat  the  hard  things  that  had 
been  written  of  her;  but  though  she  affected  to  despise 
criticism,  this  one  sentence  had  always  been  as  a  dart 
thrust  through  her  breast.  For  she  was  a  modest,  deli- 
cate, refined  woman,  and  the  lines  she  had  written,  if  they 
breathed  of  passion,  as  indeed  they  did,  were  absolutely 
free  from  any  taint  of  coarseness.  Coarseness  is  often 
enough  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  even  as  "  beauty  is  in 
the  eye  of  the  beholder." 

Jack  was  so  full  of  pain  and  misery  that  he  wanted  a 
victim. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  cried,  turning  to  her  with  flashing  eyes, 
"  who  said  that,  and  I  will  kick  him,  no  matter  who  he  is!" 

Eeine  laughed :  the  vehemence  of  his  championship  did 
her  good. 

"  And  suppose,"  she  said,  archly,  "  it  was  a  woman." 

Jack's  face  fell:  the  suggestion  was  like  a  douche  of 
cold  water  on  his  ardor. 

"  Was  it  ?"  he  asked,  ruefully. 

"I  do  not  know.  Never  mind.  Let  us  change  the 
subject.  Shall  we  go  and  listen  to  the  music?" 

She  rose  as  she  spoke.  Jack  was  not  so  blithe  now ; 
«  6* 


66  ONCE  AGAIN. 

the  scene  was  not  the  same  to  him  that  it  had  been  ten 
minutes  ago.  Eeine,  seeing  the  change  in  him,  felt  sorry 
for  what  she  had  said,  and  exerted  herself  to  talk  freely 
and  to  remove  the  painful  impression  from  his  mind. 
And  she  succeeded  soon  enough. 

Jack  remarked  without  displeasure  that  his  companion 
excited  a  good  deal  of  observation  of  a  respectful  kind. 
Her  dress  and  demeanor  were  those  of  a  well-bred  woman, 
a  woman  of  taste ;  her  voice  was  low,  her  manner  full  of 
repose.  But  she  was  remarkably  elegant,  and  her  slight 
figure  was  graceful  in  the  extreme.  Eeine  was  dressed 
entirely  in  black,  with  a  sheen  and  glint  of  jet  over  rich 
silk :  the  only  color  about  her  was  a  tiny  bright-hued 
bird  in  her  bonnet.  She  carried  in  her  hand  a  large  black 
parasol  bordered  with  flounces  of  fine  lace  and  embroid- 
ered cunningly  with  a  little  bird  which  exactly  matched 
the  one  in  her  bonnet. 

They  entered  the  concert-room  and  seated  themselves. 
A  moment  later  the  orchestra  commenced  the  dreamy  pre- 
lude of  one  of  the  favorite  valses  of  the  day.  The  first 
lingering  notes  were  followed  by  a  joyous  burst  of  soul- 
stirring  melody  that  made  the  blood  tingle  in  Jack's  veins 
and  filled  his  heart  with  a  great  desire  to  put  his  arm 
round  Keine  and  glide  away  with  her  to  that  enchanting 
region  where  real  lovers  of  dancing  with  sympathetic 
partners  find  themselves  once  and  again.  He  turned 
eagerly  to  whisper  his  wish  to  her,  but  her  eyes  were 
closed,  and  presently,  as  he  gazed  at  her  delicate  face,  a 
tear  forced  itself  from  under  her  broad  eyelids. 

A  choking  sensation  rose  in  Jack's  throat ;  a  feeling  of 
sympathy,  of  strong  desire  to  console  her,  mingled  with 
the  passion  stirred  by  the  music.  Never  had  so  intense 
a  sentiment  moved  him  since  the  days  when  he  fancied 
himself  madly  in  love.  He  knew  by  instinct  that  this 
feeling  was  infinitely  more  exalted,  more  worthy,  than 
that.  Then  a  tormenting  curiosity  overwhelmed  him  to 
know  Beine's  story.  Had  she  a  husband  ?  Great  heaven ! 
he  thought,  if  she  had,  he  would  never  get  over  the 
knowledge.  But  what  on  earth  had  her  cousin  meant  by 
that  evasive  answer  to  his  question  ? 

Once  more  the  music  swelled  into  a  joyful  pa3an,  then 
languished  and  died  away  in  a  wail  of  violins.  Then  he 


ONCE  AGAIN.  67 

turned  again  to  his  companion,  who  was  in  the  act  of 
removing  her  handkerchief  from  her  eyes.  They  wore  a 
lovely  humid  look,  a  look  full  of  sadness,  but,  as  they  met 
his,  she  forced  a  smile. 

"  Will  you  think  me  capricious,"  she  whispered,  "  if  I 
wish  to  go  out  again  ?  Sometimes  music  is  more  than  I 
can  bear.  That  was  lovely,  but — but " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Jack,  in  a  tone  of  whose  ten- 
derness he  was  not  aware.  "Music  does  put  strange 
thoughts  into  one's  head  sometimes." 

She  looked  at  him  with  more  interest  than  she  had  yet 
felt.  She  had  not  given  him  credit  for  being  sympathetic 
or  having  a  soul  for  music. 

"  I  think  all  nice  people  care  for  music,"  she  said,  and 
her  words  set  his  heart  beating  with  pleasure. 

At  the  door  they  came  upon  the  rest  of  their  party. 

"  My  dear  Eeine,  we  meet  at  last !"  exclaimed  her  aunt. 
"  This  is  a  terrible  place  for  losing  people :  we  really  ought 
not  to  have  left  you  in  the  jeweller's,  but  we  strolled  a 
little  farther  on,  and  I  suppose  that  is  how  we  missed 
you." 

"  All's  well  that  ends  well,"  returned  Eeine,  gayly. 
"  And  now  we  must  be  careful  not  to  divide  again." 

Jack's  heart  sank  at  these  words :  he  wanted  to  have 
her  to  himself:  this  last  hour  had  been  so  heavenly.  And 
to-morrow  she  was  to  return  to  Cannes,  and  he  would  still 
be  at  Nice,  and,  oh !  how  dull  and  altered  the  place  would 
seem ! 

Alwyne  Temple  was  devoting  himself  to  Dulcie,  to 
whom  it  was  evident  he  was  greatly  attracted.  Jack 
saw  this,  and,  always  ready  to  be  good-natured,  suggested 
that  his  cousin  should  return  to  Kice  with  them  to  dine 
and  sleep. 

Alwyne  assented  readily.  He  would  be  charmed.  He 
had  only  come  over  here  for  a  couple  of  days :  in  reality 
he  was  staying  with  his  sister  at  Cannes,  but  had  found  it 
rather  slow  there. 

A  sudden  thrill  of  joy  shot  through  Jack's  breast.  If 
his  cousin  Belle  Pierpoint  was  at  Cannes,  he  would  havo 
an  excellent  pretext  for  going  over  there.  He  and  Belle 
had  always  been  the  best  of  friends. 

The  day  at  Monte  Carlo  had  been  a  thorough  success 


38  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Mrs.  Yernon  pronounced,  as  the  train  bore  them  back  to 
Nice. 

"And,"  said  Jack  diffidently  to  Eeine,  "have  you — at 
least  I  hope  you  have  not  been  bored  ?" 

"  I  have  spent  a  very  pleasant  day,"  she  answered, 
looking  kindly  at  him. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 

AFTER  dinner,  Sir  John  and  his  cousin  strolled  out  to- 
gether for  a  smoke  and  a  chat.  Alwyne  was  very  full  of 
Dulcie,  the  nicest,  prettiest,  most  charming  girl  he  had 
met  for  ages. 

"  Tremendous  luck  for  you,  Jack,  travelling  with  her, 
stopping  in  the  same  hotel  with  her,  and  having  such 
opportunities,"  he  said. 

"She  is  very  nice  indeed,"  Jack  assented,  without 
warmth,  wondering  how  any  man  could  have  eyes  for 
Dulcie  when  Reine  was  present.  But  he  thanked  heaven 
that  such  a  case  was  possible  and  had  even  happened. 

He  was  burning  to  know  something  of  Mrs.  Chandos, 
but  was  deterred  from  asking  questions  of  Alwyne  first 
by  shyness  and  secondly  by  an  intuition  that  his  cousin 
was  prejudiced  against  her.  He  felt  that  he  would  want 
to  kill  any  man  who  breathed  a  word  in  her  disfavor. 
People  sometimes  fall  in  love  insensibly,  but  Jack's  eyes 
were  wide  open,  and  he  could  not  pretend  to  give  any 
other  word  to  the  feeling  which  Reine  had  that  day 
inspired  in  him  than  love.  Alwyne  himself  opened  .he 
subject. 

"  I  must  say  there  is  not  much  resemblance  between 
the  cousins,"  he  remarked.  "  I  never  saw  two  women 
more  unlike  in  every  way  than  Miss  Yernon  and  Mrs. 
Chandos." 

"  You  knew  Mrs.  Chandos  in  Rome  ?"  said  Jack,  inter- 
rogatively. 

"  Yery  slightly.  I  heard  a  good  deal  about  her,  but  it 
doesn't  amuse  me  to  run  after  ladies  who  give  themselves 
airs." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  69 

Jack  flushed,  but  the  night  concealed  it  from  his  cousin. 
He  tried  to  speak  indifferently. 

"  I  have  seen  no  sign  of  Mrs.  Chandos  giving  herself 
airs." 

"  She  may  not  to  you,"  returned  Alwyne ;  "  indeed,  I 
remarked  she  was  uncommonly  civil  to  you ;  but  she  is  as 
capricious  as  a  cat.  I  expect  she  had  her  head  rather 
turned  in  Eome,  so  that  very  few  people  were  good 
enough  for  her.  She  pretends  not  to  care  for  society, 
puts  on  cynical  airs,  doesn't,  I'm  told,  believe  in  anything, 
and  writes  improper  poetry :  so  she  has  got  a  reputation 
for  being  original,  and  a  few  fools  run  after  her." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  improper  poetry  ?"  asked  Jack, 
in  a  smothered  voice,  repressing  a  desire  to  take  his  cousin 
by  the  throat. 

"  Oh,"  said  Alwyne,  lightly,  "  it  does  not  shock  me,  but 
I  must  say  some  of  the  verses  are  rather  warm.  The 
best  part  of  it  is  that  she  is  as  cold  as  ice  herself,  and,  I 
believe,  hates  men.  She  had  rather  a  bad  time  with  her 
husband." 

Her  husband !  Jack's  heart  gave  a  bound.  At  last  he 
was  to  know. 

"  Has  she  a  husband  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No :  she  got  rid  of  him." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  is  divorced  ?" 

"  I  do  mean  that.  He  was  rather  a  scamp, — drank,  I 
believe,  and  committed  other  atrocities ;  so  after  about  a 
year  she  had  enough  of  him  and  got  a  divorce.  He  had 
lots  of  money,  but  she  would  not  have  a  halfpenny  of  it, 
and  took  her  own  name  again.  I  daresay  she  led  him 
rather  a  life  :  she  looks  as  if  she  could.  I  expect  author- 
esses are  not  very  pleasant  people  to  live  with  :  I  shouldn't 
care  for  one,  I  know.  Now,  look  at  that  pretty  Miss  Ver- 
rion.  I'll  be  bound  she  couldn't  write  a  line  of  poetry  to 
save  her  life;  but  I  am  sure  she'd  make  a  deuced  nice 
little  wife." 

Jack  had  heard  enough — too  much — by  this  time.  He 
felt  an  odd  sensation  in  his  throat ;  an  angry  pain  gnawed 
at  his  chest.  With  strange  abruptness,  he  started  off  into 
an  entirely  new  topic.  Alwyne  observed  nothing.  The 
darkness  had  hidden  the  changing  expression  of  Jack's 
features  from  him,  and  he  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in 


70  ONCE  AGAIN. 

himself  all  day  to  remark  how  much  attracted  his  cousin 
was  by  Mrs.  Chandos.  Even  now,  his  ideas  being  fixed 
on  one  subject,  he  did  not  notice  Jack's  irrelevant  remark. 

"  People  say  that  it  is  Henry  Bertram  who  has  done 
Mrs.  Chandos  all  the  mischief,"  he  continued ;  and  Jack, 
like  the  moth  that  has  made  an  effort  to  get  away  from 
the  light  but  is  again  drawn  towards  it,  was  forced  to  ask 
who  Henry  Bertram  was. 

"  You  must  have  met  him,"  answered  Alwyne.  "  He 
goes  everywhere,  is  a  very  good  fellow,  and  extremely 
popular ;  but  he  believes  in  nothing,  and  has  done  his  best 
to  pervert  Mrs.  Chandos.  At  all  events,  she  is  devoted  to 
him,  and  he  to  her.  When  he  is  of  the  party,  she  seldom 
takes  notice  of  any  one  else." 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  him?"  asked  poor  Jack,  with  a 
dreadful  sinking  at  his  heart. 

"  Good  Lord,  no !  Bertram  wouldn't  marry  to  save  his 
soul,  though,  by  the  way," — laughing, — "  as  he  does  not 
believe  in  souls  or  their  being  saved,  that's  not  very  ap- 
propriate. Oh,  no :  there's  nothing  of  that  sort.  They 
are  purely  platonic  ;  and  he  is  old  enough  to  be  her  father. 
They  are  both  clever,  I  suppose,  and  fancy  themselves 
and  each  other,  and  think  it  fine  not  to  believe  in  God." 

Jack  felt  that  he  could  not  bear  any  more  of  this.  He 
knew  that  Alwyne's  speech  was  generally  colored  by  ex- 
aggeration and  a  certain  amount  of  malice,  if  he  did  not 
like  the  person  of  whom  he  spoke.  But  every  word  he 
said  about  Mrs.  Chandos  hurt  his  auditor  more  and  more, 
and  Jack  suggested  a  return  to  the  hotel. 

They  found  Mrs.  Chester  and  Dulcie  in  the  sitting-room. 
Lilah  had  gone  to  bed.  The  two  other  ladies  had  retired 
for  a  confidential  chat.  Sir  John  talked  to  his  mother, 
and  Alwyne  devoted  himself  to  Dulcie.  Presently  he  sug- 
gested showing  her  some  photographs,  and  went  to  his 
room  in  quest  of  them.  On  his  return,  he  laid  them  on 
the  table,  and,  approaching  his  cousin,  put  a  small  book 
into  his  hand. 

"  There,  Jack,"  he  said,  with  a  meaning  smile,  "  is  some- 
thing that  will  interest  you." 

Jack  glanced  at  the  title-page,  and  read,  "  Yerses  from 
the  South ;"  then,  with  an  instinctive  desire  to  conceal  the 
book  from  his  mother,  he  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  71 

Mrs.  Chester  remarked  the  action,  but  said  nothing. 
She  was  far  from  being  a  woman  of  the  world,  yet  she  was 
discreet  in  the  way  of  not  asking  questions. 

Jack  had  only  one  idea  now, — to  get  away  by  himself 
and  read  this  precious  volume,  to  assure  himself  that  Mrs. 
Chandos  had  been  foully  maligned.  His  mother  saw  that 
ho  was  distrait,  and  half  fancied  him  to  be  ruffled  by 
Alwyne's  taking  possession  of  Dulcie.  It  was  too  bad  of 
Alwyne,  she  thought,  but  he  was  always  selfish  and  in- 
sisted on  drawing  the  attention  of  every  woman  to  him- 
self. He  was  such  a  butterfly,  there  was  no  fear  of  his 
standing  seriously  in  his  cousin's  way ;  but  he  ought  to 
have  seen  how  matters  stood,  the  excellent  lady  reflected, 
and  not  have  interfered  with  dear  Johnnie. 

For  she  really  contemplated  the  possibility  of  having 
Dulcie  for  a  daughter-in-law,  and  the  idea  commended 
itself  to  her.  Dulcie  was  so  amiable,  so  pretty,  and  so 
ladylike;  all  her  ideas  seemed  so  thoroughly  proper, 
modest,  and  correct.  It  was  not  yet  ten  o'clock,  so  Jack 
could  scarcely  make  a  pretext  of  going  to  bed  ;  but  he  was 
presently  inspired  by  the  idea  that  he  wanted  to  look  at 
one  of  the  papers  in  the  reading-room,  and  started  off  as 
though  he  only  intended  to  be  absent  for  a  lew  minutes. 
But,  once  outside  the  door,  he  rushed  to  his  room,  lighted 
his  candles,  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and,  trembling  with 
eagerness  and  other  emotions  which  he  did  not  pause  to 
analyze,  devoured  the  pages. 

That  night  was  one  which  he  would  never  forget  if  he 
lived  to  be  a  hundred.  Until  then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
he  had  never  felt,  never  suffered.  A  thousand  ideas  and 
instincts  were  developed  in  him  which  had  lain  dormant 
before ;  his  mind,  generally  so  calm  and  unruffled,  was 
torn  by  strange  speculations;  his  even  pulses  throbbed 
with  fever;  love,  jealousy,  doubt,  disappointment,  fear, 
revolt,  all  struggled  and  fought  and  tore  his  heart  with 
relentless  fingers. 

He  thought  the  verses  beautiful ;  there  was  a  rhythm,  a 
cadence  in  them  that  struck  softly  on  his  senses ;  and  yet, 
as  he  read,  he  wished, — how  he  wished ! — that  she  had  not 
written  them.  The  current  of  passion  underlying  them 
smote  him  with  jealous  pangs  :  if  she  could  write  thus  of 
love,  it  was  because  she  had  known  and  felt  it.  Who  was 


72  ONCE  AGAIN. 

the  man,  he  wondered,  bitterly,  who  had  wrung  these  pas* 
sionate  verses  from  her  ?  He  would  have  given  his  life, 
he  thought,  if  she  had  penned  them  to  him,  for  him  alone, 
to  be  seen  by  no  other  eyes  than  his.  But  that  she  should 
have  written  them  for  some  other  man,  and  then  have 
given  them  to  the  vulgar  world  to  read  and  make  mock 
of,  to  turn  their  delicacy  into  grossness,  to  utter  coarse 
innuendoes  about  them,  seemed  incomprehensible  to  him, 
— jarred  unspeakably  on  his  finer  perceptions.  There  was 
another  thing  which  hurt  him  almost  as  much.  He  was 
not  religious,  he  was  far  from  being  a  goody-goody  young 
man,  but  he  had  been  brought  up  among  religious  influ- 
ences, and  it  had  never  once  entered  his  honest  heart  to 
doubt  God,  or  heaven,  or  hell,  or  any  other  of  the  faiths 
of  Christianity. 

Through  all  the  verses  there  breathed  a  spirit  of  intense 
melancholy,  of  utter  hopelessness.  Men  were  puppets  of 
some  cruel  force,  struggling,  suffering  without  aim,  with- 
out guidance,  grasping  after  happiness  which  ever  eluded 
them,  mocked  at  by  fate,  and  trodden  back  into  earth  with 
the  dust  and  leaves  of  by-gone  years. 

There  was  no  indication  of  any  trust  in  Divine  love  or 
goodness ;  and  this  proof  that  the  woman  he  loved  be- 
lieved, as  Alwyne  had  said,  in  nothing,  hurt  Jack  cruelly. 
He  thought  with  smothered  hatred  of  the  man  who  had 
taken  the  most  precious  of  all  gifts  a  woman  can  have, 
faith,  from  her;  he  clinched  his  fist  involuntarily,  as 
though  her  evil  genius  were  within  reach  of  a  blow. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  still  Jack  sat 
there  with  his  soul  distraught  and  full  of  misery.  He 
loved  this  woman,  and  he  did  not  want  to  love  her ;  per- 
sonally she  was  all  that  was  sweet,  fair,  and  gracious  in 
his  eyes,  but  his  heart  and  mind  could  not  approve  of  her. 
Yet  he  was  madly  anxious  to  hear  what  she  herself  had  to 
say  about  these  things :  he  did  not  want  to  judge  her  even 
by  what  she  had  written.  But  it  was  scarcely  likely  she 
would  deign  to  give  any  explanation  to  him,  whom  she 
only  seemed  to  regard  with  the  patronizing  kindness  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  for  an  overgrown  boy. 

He  went  to  bed,  slept  for  a  few  hours,  and  woke  early. 
The  thoughts  of  the  night  before  came  back  painfully  to 
him,  and  he  rose  and  went  for  a  walk.  It  was  a  lovely 


ONCE  AGAIN.  73 

morning,  but  he  felt  for  once  incapable  of  enjoying  the  air 
and  exercise  that  were  usually  so  stimulating  to  his  vig- 
orous health.  Of  course  he  had  but  one  idea, — a  mad 
longing  to  see  Mrs.  Chandos  again,  to  look  at  her  by  the 
light  of  this  new  and  painful  revelation,  and  to  know 
whether  he  would  care  less  for  her  now. 

He  breakfasted  with  his  mother  and  Alwyne  in  their 
si  tting-room. 

"  Halloo,  Jack !"  cried  his  cousin,  as  they  met :  "  what 
the  deuce  became  of  you  last  night  ?  I  hunted  about  for 
you  all  over  the  place." 

"  I  went  to  bed,"  replied  Jack. 

"  I  say,  old  chap,  you  were  not  annoyed  at  my  talking 
to  Miss  Dulcie,  were  you?  I  wouldn't  trespass  for  the 
world  on  your  property,  you  know." 

Jack  saw  that  his  mother  was  regarding  him  with  some 
eagerness,  as  if  she  too  suspected  that  he  had  been  annoyed 
by  Alwyne's  monopolizing  the  young  lady. 

"  Not  in  the  very  least !"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  whose 
heartiness  was  calculated  to  remove  doubt  from  both 
minds.  "  She  is  a  very  nice,  pretty  girl,  and  you  shall 
both  have  my  blessing  if  it  is  of  any  use  to  you." 

Mrs.  Chester  felt  a  twinge  of  disappointment. 

"  I  hope,  my  dear  Alwyne,"  she  said,  a  little  stiffly, 
"  that  you  will  not  make  your  attentions  to  Miss  Yernon 
too  marked.  You  know  her  mother  and  I  were  at  school 
together." 

Alwyne  laughed  gayly. 

"  My  dearest  aunt,"  he  replied,  "  I  assure  you  the  daugh- 
ter of  your  school-friend  shall  be  respected.  But  now," 
coaxingly, — and  his  manners  were  extremely  seductive 
when  he  wished  them  to  be  so, — "  why  should  we  not 
make  up  a  party  and  go  for  a  delightful  drive  ?  We  can 
have  two  carriages,  and  Jack  and  I  will  go  with  Mrs, 
Chandos  and  her  cousin,  and  you  and  Mrs.  Yernon  and 
Lilah  in  the  other." 

Alwyne  seldom  troubled  his  head  to  consider  Lilah's 
feelings,  and  she  detested  him  cordially  in  consequence 
and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  being  spiteful  to  him. 

But  Jack  did  not  forget  her,  although  Alwyne's  proposal 
seemed  delightful  to  him. 

"  Poor  little  Lilah  !"  he  said :  "  we  must  think  of  her. 


74  ONCE  AGAIN. 

She  had  a  bad  time  yesterday,  and  will,  I  dare  say,  want  a 
voice  in  arranging  matters  to-day." 

Alwyne's  look  intimated  plainly,  "  Confound  Lilah !" 
but  he  could  not  give  verbal  utterance  to  the  sentiment. 
He  had  been  a  spoiled  child  all  his  life,  and  abhorred  con- 
tradiction. 

Jack,  seeing  and  interpreting  his  look,  said,  good-humor 
edly,— 

"  Never  mind,  old  chap  ;  we  will  see  that  you  are  paired 
off  with  Miss  Dulcie.  Have  you  any  idea,  mother,  what 
the  other  ladies  are  going  to  do  to-day  ?" 

"  I  rather  fancy,"  Mrs.  Chester  replied,  "  that  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos  returns  to  Cannes  this  afternoon."  And,  as  a  swift 
change,  a  look  of  blank  disappointment,  crossed  her  son's 
face,  a  sudden  and  unpleasing  idea  took  possession  of  her 
mind. 

She  hoped  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  that  her  dear 
son  was  not  going  to  allow  himself  to  be  drawn  away  by 
the  fascinations  of  this  dangerous  woman.  For  Alwyne, 
after  Dulcie  left  them  the  previous  evening,  had  given  his 
aunt  a  little  biographical  sketch  of  Keine,  even  more 
highly  colored  and  less  favorable  than  the  one  which  he 
had  presented  to  Jack. 

Mrs.  Chester  was,  like  many  excellent  women,  narrow- 
minded.  She  was  extremely  religious,  and  thought  of 
doubters  and  sceptics  as  miserable  castaways  directly 
under  the  Divine  ban.  A  male  unbeliever  was  a  shocking 
spectacle,  but  there  were  no  words  adequate  to  describe 
her  horror  of  a  woman  without  religion.  In  her  eyes, 
too,  a  divorced  woman  was  a  social  pariah :  if  a  woman 
was  unfortunate  enough  to  have  a  bad  husband,  she  must 
suffer  her  sad  fate  in  silence  and  with  resignation,  seeking 
comfort  in  prayer  and  good  works.  Mrs.  Chester  was 
kind-hearted,  very  reticent  of  giving  an  unfavorable  judg- 
ment upon  any  one,  but  her  convictions  were  remarkably 
strong.  She  had  only  seen  Mrs.  Chandos  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  had  admired  her  genuinely  and  been  struck  by 
the  charm  of  her  manner ;  but  after  Alwyne's  revelation 
she  had  felt  strongly  that  the  less  she  and  her  family 
were  brought  in  contact  with  Eeine,  the  better.  She  was 
almost  disposed  to  blame  Mrs.  Yernon  for  having  intro- 
duced her  to  them. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  75 

When  she  saw  the  look  of  pain  and  disappointment  on 
her  son's  face  at  the  announcement  of  Mrs.  Chandos's 
departure,  it  gave  her  a  shock  as  though  the  knowledge 
of  a  misfortune  had  come  suddenly  upon  her.  The  next 
moment  she  felt  distinctly  glad  that  temptation  was  to  be 
removed  from  her  dear  son.  Mrs.  Chandos  would  leave 
Nice.  John  would  forget  her  and  resume  his  attentions 
to  Dulcie.  Alwyne,  she  hoped,  would  also  go  back  either 
to  Cannes  or  Monte  Carlo,  and  their  pleasant  little  party 
would  be  restored  to  its  original  composition.  Sir  John 
had  at  present  given  no  intimation  of  any  intention  to 
return  to  England,  though,  when  they  started,  it  was 
supposed  that  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  them  comfortably 
settled  at  Nice  he  was  to  return  to  his  hunting,  hitherto 
the  first  object  of  his  life. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  waiter  brought  in  a  note  from 
Mrs.  Vernon.  She  wrote  that  her  party  would  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  lovely  weather  to  sit  out  on  the  Prom- 
enade :  would  Mrs.  Chester  and  Lilah  join  them  there  ? 
If  not,  she  hoped  they  would  all  meet  at  lunch,  when  they 
might  make  some  arrangements  for  the  afternoon. 

"  It  will  do  Lilah  good  to  go  out  in  her  chair,"  said  Sir 
John,  rising  with  alacrity.  "  I  will  go  and  ask  her  what 
she  thinks  about  it."  He  returned  to  say  that  Lilah  was 
most  anxious  to  be  out,  and  Mrs.  Chester  wrote  a  line  to 
Mrs.  Yernon  proposing  that  they  should  all  meet  on  the 
Promenade  in  an  hour's  time. 

Lilah  had  made  her  brother  promise  to  devote  him- 
self to  her  this  morning, — to  sit  and  walk  by  her  chair ; 
and,  however  irksome  Jack  found  this  promise  to  make 
and  keep,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse  or  evade  it. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Alwyne  to  him ;  "  I  see  them  out 
there ;"  but  his  cousin,  repressing  the  eagerness  he  felt, 
merely  answered, — 

"  All  right :  you  join  them.     I  must  wait  for  Lilah." 

So  Alwyne  went,  and  Jack  paced  the  room  in  an  agony 
of  impatience  until  Lilah  made  her  appearance.  When 
she  was  settled  in  her  chair  they  started  for  the  Prom- 
enade, and  presently  came  upon  the  rest  of  the  party 
seated  on  a  bench,  Alwyne  evidently  bent  on  making 
himself  agreeable  to  Dulcie,  whilst  her  mother  and  Eeine 
were  deep  in  conversation.  As  the  chair  drew  up  in  front 


76  ONCE  AGAIN. 

of  them,  they  all  rose  and  greeted  Lilah,  who  received 
their  attentions  with  great  affability.  She  liked  to  be  the 
centre  of  attraction,  and  her  wan  little  face  lit  up  with 
smiles.  Eeine  spoke  very  sweetly  and  kindly  to  her, — 
told  her  they  had  missed  her  at  Monte  Carlo  the  day  be- 
fore, described  the  place  to  her,  and  said  that  her  brother 
must  certainly  take  her  to  spend  a  day  there.  She  pro- 
posed to  walk  on  a  little  way  with  Lilah  in  her  chair,  and 
the  invalid  was  delighted.  So  they  moved  forward,  Jack 
on  one  side,  Eeine  on  the  other, — he  usually  silent,  but 
drinking  in  every  tone  of  the  gracious  voice  which,  as  he 
thought,  dropped  pearls  and  diamonds ;  feeling  every 
moment  that  his  doubts  about  her  were  vanishing  like  a 
morning  mist  before  the  sunshine,  and  that  she  was  the 
sweetest,  most  lovable  woman  upon  God's  earth.  It  filled 
him  with  joy  to  see  how  Lilah  took  to  her,  Lilah  who 
was  so  prone  to  show  jealous  dislike  of  any  one  whom  he 
seemed  to  admire.  But  her  sharp  eyes  had  not  yet  dis- 
covered his  attraction  to  Eeine,  her  fixed  idea  for  the  mo- 
ment being  that  Dulcie  was  the  object  of  his  attentions 
and  thoughts. 

Lilah  talked  quite  confidentially  to  Eeine;  spoke  of  her 
own  sufferings  and  privations,  with  tears  in  her  eyes ;  of 
the  hardship  of  being  different  from  other  people  and  un- 
able to  enjoy  life  as  they  enjoyed  it.  And  Eeine  replied  in 
her  sympathetic  voice  that  it  was  indeed  hard,  most  hard, 
but  that  some  day,  perhaps,  Lilah  would  outgrow  her  ail- 
ments ;  and  she  called  to  mind  a  wonderful  cure  that  had 
been  effected  by  some  German  baths  in  a  similar  case. 

Lilah's  eyes  brightened. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  if  I  could  only  be  well,  I  should 
be  so  happy !" 

"  But,"  said  Eeine,  "  do  you  find  that  every  one  is 
happy  just  because  they  are  free  from  aches  and  pains?" 

"  If  they  are  not,  they  ought  to  be,"  returned  Lilah, 
peremptorily.  "  I  don't  pity  any  one  who  is  strong,  and 
sleeps  well,  and  never  has  a  headache." 

"  What  about  heart-aches  ?"  said  Eeine,  with  a  sad  little 
smile. 

"  Oh,  those  are  easily  got  over,"  returned  Lilah,  with  the 
flippancy  of  a  person  speaking  of  a  disorder  which  he 
has  never  experienced. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  77 

"  At  all  events,  this  lovely  day  ought  to  cure  every 
ache,"  said  Eeine,  brightly.  "  It  seems  impossible  to  real- 
ize that  we  are  so  near  Christmas." 

Jack,  though  comparatively  happy  at  being  in  the  com- 
pany of  Mrs.  Chandos,  had  the  natural  longing  of  a  man 
who  loves  a  woman  to  be  alone  with  her;  but  Fate  only 
granted  him  this  opportunity  for  a  very  few  minutes. 
His  mind  was  full  of  questions  that  he  desired  to  ask  her, 
and  he  was  keenly  anxious  to  know  when  and  where  he 
was  likely  to  see  her  again. 

"  I  am  so  awfully  sorry  that  you  are  going  away,"  he 
said  to  her,  taking  advantage  of  the  very  first  moment 
when  they  were  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  rest  of  the  party. 

"  Thank  you :  you  are  very  kind,"  replied  Eeine,  lightly. 

Her  tone  hurt  him :  it  was  as  though  she  declined  to 
take  seriously  the  words  that  were  so  seriously  meant. 

"  I  wanted  so  much,"  Jack  went  on,  humbly,  "  to  have 
talked  to  you, — to  have  asked  you  about — about  a  lot  of 
things — about  your  book  which  I  read  last  night." 

"  Oh,"  said  Eeine,  in  a  voice  that  held  a  slight  accent 
of  mockery,  "  have  you  really  been  reading  some  of  my 
verses  ?  f  hope  they  have  not  shocked  you." 

"  I  think  they  are  beautiful,"  he  said,  and  then  stopped 
short. 

"  But !"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to  him  and  smiling. 
"I  distinctly  detect  a  but  in  your  voice." 

Jack  hesitated.  The  color  deepened  in  his  face.  He 
ardently  desired  to  speak,  but  some  emotion  chained  his 
tongue.  His  very  silence  confirmed  her  suggestion. 

"  You  are  shocked.  You  do  not  approve  of  them,"  said 
Eeine,  a  faint  pink  illumining  her  own  cheek.  "  I  am  a 
thought-reader.  You  cannot  deceive  me." 

There  was  a  touch  of  disdain  in  her  tone  and  heart,  a 
slight  feeling  of  resentment  that  this  young  fellow  whom 
she  had  passively  tolerated  as  an  admirer  should  presume 
to  constitute  himself  a  judge. 

"  Why  do  you  take  such  a  bad  view  of  life  ?"  burst  out 
Jack,  impetuously.  "  "Why  do  you  write  as  if  there  were 
no  good  in  anything  ? — as  if  the  world  was  a  miserable 
place,  and  there  was  nothing  to  look  to  in  the  future  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  write  according  to  my  experience  and  con- 
victions," she  returned,  with  some  coldness. 

7* 


78  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"No,"  cried  Jack,  "that  cannot  be.  I  will  not  believe 
it  is  natural  to  you.  Some  one  else  has  given  you  morbid 
thoughts.  Why  should  you  have  such  ideas, — you  who 
are  beautiful,  and  whom  every  one  loves  ?" 

"  Including  your  cousin  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  mocking 
voice. 

u  I  do  not  think  his  opinion  matters  much,"  replied 
Jack,  committing  a  breach  of  tact  in  permitting  her  to 
see  that  her  surmise  was  correct. 

Unreasonable  as  it  was,  Eeine  was  nettled  by  his  ad- 
mission. She  thought  a  score  of  hard  things  about  her- 
self, but  she  did  not  like  to  have  it  proved  that  any  one 
thought  ill  of  her. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  coldly,  "  I  do  not  think  that  either 
he  or  you  can  be  in  a  position  to  judge  of  the  actions, 
thoughts,  or  feelings  of  a  person  comparatively  unknown 
to  you.  Every  one  who  chooses  to  buy  my  books  is,  of 
course,  at  liberty  to  form  his  opinion  of  them,  and  find 
what  fault  he  chooses  with  them ;  but  he  is  not  at  liberty 
to  discuss  them  with  me  or  to  take  me  to  task  for  the 
sentiments  expressed  in  them." 

"  Oh,"  stammered  Jack,  utterly  abashed  and  miserable, 
"  you  do  not  think  I  would  be  such  a  presumptuous  ass  as 
to " 

But  here  they  arrived  at  the  hotel  door,  at  which 
Alwyne  was  standing. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

JACK  did  not  go  in  to  lunch,  but  wandered  about  mis- 
erably alone.  He  had  offended  the  woman  he  would  have 
given  anything  he  possessed  to  please,  and  he  told  himself 
that  he  was  one  of  those  fools  who  rush  in  where  angels 
fear  to  tread,  and  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  an  unpardon- 
able impertinence  which  she  would  probably  never  over- 
look. He  might  never  see  her  again  :  in  an  hour  she  was 
going  back  to  Cannes:  probably  if  they  ever  met  in 
future  she  would  ignore  him.  Poor  Jack,  as  he  flung 


ONCE  AGAIN.  79 

himself  on  a  bench  and  surveyed  the  scene  that  seemed 
so  glorious  only  an  hour  ago,  was  in  a  mood  much  more 
suited  to  comprehend  Mrs.  Chandos's  pessimistic  views 
than  he  would  then  have  thought  possible.  The  present 
was  melancholy  and  the  future  blank.  It  was  a  dreadful 
thing  that,  in  the  midst  of  a  life  which  seemed  full,  com- 
plete, bright,  one  should  be  liable  to  have  its  whole 
pleasing  tenor  changed  by  the  introduction  of  one  fresh 
element.  A  man  is  happy  and  contented,  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  his  surroundings ;  he  accidentally  meets  a 
woman,  and  forty-eight  hours  later  she  is  the  pivot  on 
which  his  every  thought  and  action  turns ;  her  presence 
and  her  smiles  constitute  Paradise,  her  absence  and  her 
frowns  plunge  him  into  misery.  Yet  every  other  incident 
of  life  is  unchanged.  Jack,  in  his  normal  condition, 
thought  hunting  the  panacea  for  all  ills;  but  at  this 
moment,  when  he  told  himself  that  he  had  better  get 
back  to  it,  the  thought,  so  far  from  stimulating  his  fancy, 
made  him  feel  profoundly  dejected,  and  the  sport  he  had 
so  ardently  loved  seemed  a  very  poor  exchange  for  look- 
ing into  the  eyes  of  Eeine  Chandos  on  the  shores  of  the 
blue  Mediterranean. 

Gradually  one  overpowering  idea  took  possession  of 
him :  he  could  not  part  with  her  under  the  ban  of  her 
displeasure;  he  must  have  one  smile,  one  kind  word,  from 
her,  or  life  would  be  intolerable.  Wending  his  way  into 
the  town,  he  selected  a  small  basket  and  had  it  filled  with 
the  choicest  white  flowers  ;  elsewhere  he  purchased  a  box 
of  bonbons,  and  proceeded  to  the  railway  station  to  await 
her  arrival.  Fortune  favored  him  so  far  that  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos came  attended  only  by  her  maid,  and  with  no  rela- 
tions or  friends  to  see  her  off. 

Heine's  heart  was  kind,  and  she  was  not  capricious :  she 
di  j  not  love  to  give  pain  to  those  who  cared  for  her  for 
the  sake  of  accentuating  her  triumph.  She  saw,  by  the 
mingled  humility  and  eagerness  of  Jack's  manner,  that  he 
was  wearing  sackcloth  for  his  offence  and  was  dying  to 
propitiate  her.  After  all,  poor  boy,  his  crime  had  been  a 
small  one,  and  prompted  not  by  impertinence,  but  by  a 
too  great  interest  in  her  which  she  regretted :  so  she 
smiled  very  kindly  upon  him,  accepted  his  offerings,  and 
seemed  quite  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  displeased  her. 


80  ONCE  AGAIN. 

For  all  that  he  dared  not  venture  to  ask  if  he  might 
call  on  her  at  Cannes  when  he  went  over  to  see  his  cousin, 
eo  desperately  afraid  was  he  lest  she  should  refuse  consent 
or  show  him  that  a  visit  would  be  unwelcome.  But  as  he 
went  back  to  the  hotel  with  a  lightened  heart  he  up- 
braided himself  for  his  cowardice,  and  resolved  that  go  he 
would,  whatever  the  result  might  be. 

He  was  not  sorry  to  find  that  the  rest  of  the  party  were 
out  driving.  His  mother  left  word  for  him  the  direction 
which  they  had  taken,  but  he  had  no  mind  to  join  them, 
and  preferred  to  saunter  about  with  his  own  thoughts  for 
company. 

At  dinner  he  devoted  his  conversation  entirely  to  Mrs. 
Yernon.  That  astute  lady  perfectly  understood  the  object 
of  his  attentions,  and  willingly  led  the  conversation  to 
Eeine,  of  whom  she  spoke  in  eulogistic  and  affectionate 
terms.  She  was  so  clever,  so  much  admired ;  it  was  un- 
fortunate that  her  domestic  experiences  should  have  em- 
bittered her  life  and  thoughts,  but  no  shadow  of  blame 
attached  to  her.  Mrs.  Vernon  did  not  enter  into  particu- 
lars about  Eeine's  married  life,  and  Jack  was  far  too  well 
mannered  to  betray  any  curiosity  upon  the  subject,  though 
it  was  the  one  which  of  all  others  most  interested  him. 

Mrs.  Yernon  saw  with  pleasure  how  much  attracted  he 
was  to  her  niece :  it  relieved  her  of  the  embarrassment 
which  she  feared  in  case  his  fancy  had  lighted  upon  Dul- 
cie.  Alwyne  was  paying  her  much  more  attention  than 
Sir  John  had  ever  done,  and  Dulcie  accepted  it  without 
any  symptom  of  awkwardness  or  displeasure;  but  this 
caused  little  trouble  to  Mrs.  Yernon,  as,  in  case  of  Mr. 
Temple  courting  his  dismissal  by  overtures  of  a  too  pointed 
character,  it  would  not  be  likely  to  lead  to  any  diminution 
of  friendship  between  the  Yernon  and  Chester  families. 
Indeed,  Mrs.  Yernon  saw  plainly  enough  that  Mrs.  Chester 
inwardly  resented  Alwyne's  interference  with  her  son. 

Under  other  circumstances,  Dulcie's  mother  would  have 
been  pleased  by  Mr.  Temple's  attentions,  for  she  was 
aware  that  he  was  rich  and  that  his  position  was  undeni- 
able. When  she  reflected  on  the  dreadful  bar  which  lay 
between  Dulcie  and  social  advancement,  a  smothered  fury 
took  possession  of  her.  The  wretch  who  stood  between 
her  and  fortune  still  lingered  much  in  the  same  state,  and, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  81 

now  that  he  had  survived  so  long,  it  seemed  improbable 
that  he  would  die.  When  Mrs.  Yernon  looked  at  her 
daughter's  pretty  smiling  face  and  remembered  this  ap- 
palling fact,  she  almost  hated  her.  It  was  not  as  if  the 
girl  had  been  led  away  by  strong  passion :  she  was  inca- 
pable of  feeling  it :  why,  already  it  was  evident  that  she 
had  almost  forgotten  the  man  for  whom  she  had  idiotically 
ruined  her  life. 

After  dinner  all  the  party  adjourned  for  a  time  to  Mrs. 
Chester's  spacious  sitting-room,  which  had  windows  over- 
looking the  sea.  Lilah  was  full  of  Mrs.  Chandos,  and 
talked  of  little  else. 

"  Is  she  not  elegant  and  lovely  ?"  she  asked  her  brother ; 
"  and  does  she  not  dress  beautifully  ?  Oh,  Johnnie,  I  am 
dying  to  read  her  books.  You  must  get  them  for  me." 

The  first  part  of  her  remark  had  been  delightful  to  Jack. 
He  was  sitting  beside  her  with  her  hand  in  his,  and  he 
had  almost  involuntarily  given  it  a  little  squeeze,  but  at 
her  last  words  he  as  involuntarily  unclasped  it.  A  pain- 
ful feeling  contracted  his  heart.  He  knew  that  he  loved, 
admired,  respected  Heine  more  than  he  had  ever  done  any 
woman  in  his  life,  and  yet  he  was  distinctly  conscious  that 
he  should  not  like  Lilah  to  read  her  poetry.  He  was 
silent :  it  almost  seemed  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her. 

"  Johnnie,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  do  you  hear  me  ?  What 
are  you  thinking  of?" 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  said,  trying  to  smile,  and  looking 
as  he  felt,  very  awkward,  "  Mrs.  Chandos's  poetry  is  very 
clever,  but  it  is  very  sad,  and  I  think  you  ought  to  read 
something  more  cheerful." 

"  I  like  sad  books,"  cried  Lilah,  impetuously :  "  they  ap- 
peal to  me  much  more  than  the  others.  I  am  sure,"  bit- 
terly, "  my  life  is  sad  enough,  and  it  does  me  good  to  think 
that  other  people  are  miserable  too,  sometimes,  even 
though  they  don't  seem  to  have  any  cause.  And  so," 
gazing  suddenly  upon  him,  "you  have  read  them,  have 
you  ?  I  thought  you  hated  poetry  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  one  book,"  he  said,  evasively. 

"  Oh,  Johnnie,  have  you  got  it  ?  Do,  like  a  dear,  fetch 
it  for  me." 

"  It  is  not  proper  reading  for  a  little  girl  like  you,"  in- 
terposed Alwyne,  who  was  fond  of  teasing  her;  and  then 


82  ONCE  AGAIN. 

he  suddenly  turned  very  red,  remembering  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Yernon  and  Dulcie. 

Lilah  at  once  grasped  at  the  opportunity  for  retaliation. 

"  I  think  it  is  very  rude  of  you  to  say  Mrs.  Chandos's 
book  is  improper  before  her  aunt  and  cousin,"  she  cried, 
sharply. 

"I  only  said  for  a  little  girl,"  returned  Alwyne,  recover- 
ing himself:  "for  every  one  else  it  is  delightful." 

"  I  am  not  a  little  girl,"  retorted  Lilah :  "  I  am  twenty- 
one.  Oh,  Johnnie,"  again  turning  to  her  brother,  "  do — do 
go  and  fetch  it  for  me,  there's  a  good  boy." 

Sir  John  was  on  the  rack,  but  here  his  mother  inter- 
posed. 

"  You  know,  Lilah  dear,  it  is  not  good  for  you  to  read 
at  night.  It  excites  you  and  makes  your  head  ache.  Wait 
until  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  returned  Lilah,  pettishly.  "  Of  course 
I  can  never  have  anything  I  want.  But  I  am  quite  sure," 
with  a  vindictive  glance  at  Alwyne,  "  that  Mrs.  Chandos 
never  wrote  anything  that  any  one  might  not  read." 

"  Have  you  read  your  cousin's  poetry  ?"  Alwyne  whis- 
pered to  Dulcie. 

" No,"  she  answered ;  "I  do  not  care  for  poetry,  and 
mamma  said  it  was  very  clever,  but  that  it  was  not  alto- 
gether suitable  for  girls." 

"  She  was  quite  right,"  returned  Alwyne,  with  some 
warmth.  His  morals  were  by  no  means  of  a  high  order, 
and  most  of  his  time  was  spent  in  the  society  of  ladies 
who  would  not  have  been  likely  to  take  any  additional 
hurt  from  what  they  read ;  but  with  his  admiration  for 
Dulcie  had  come  a  revulsion  in  Alwyne's  sentiments  to- 
wards women,  and  he  was  as  much  attracted  now  to  what 
he  had  been  used  to  call  a  bread-and-butter  miss  as  he  had 
before  been  repelled  by  the  genus. 

When,  later,  he  and  Jack  were  smoking  their  cigars  to- 
gether on  the  Promenade,  he  went  into  a  rhapsody  on  the 
subject  of  modesty  and  innocence. 

Jack  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  My  dear  old  chap,"  he  said,  "  you  have  changed  your 
tune  with  a  vengeance  since  we  last  discussed  the  sub- 
ject." 

But  Alwyne  insisted  that  he  had  always  admired  virtue 


ONCE  AGAIN.  83 

in  the  main,  though  he  might  have  amused  himself  with 
those  who  could  not  lay  much  claim  to  the  attribute. 

"  And  if/'  he  proceeded,  "  I  had  any  idea  of  marrying, 
which  I  have  not,  I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  delight- 
ful than  to  marry  a  girl  like  Dulcie  Vernon." 

"  Why  not  marry  her  ?"  suggested  Jack. 

"  Now,  there  is  a  girl,"  proceeded  Alwyne,  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  thoroughly  well  brought  up,  as  innocent  as  a  daisy, 
who  has  not,  I'll  swear,  a  wrong  thought  in  her  dear  little 
head,  and  who  would  be  as  incapable  of  deceiving  one  as 
— as  an  angel." 

Jack  concurred  heartily  in  his  cousin's  praise  of  Dulcie, 
and  again  suggested  that  he  should  take  this  ideal  young 
lady  to  wife. 

"  I  don't  want  to  marry,"  returned  Alwyne ;  "  I  have 
always  set  my  face  against  it ;  but,  if  I  did,  I  can  only  say 
I  never  saw  a  girl  I  could  better  fancy." 

"  Where  is  Belle  staying  at  Cannes  ?"  inquired  Jack, 
changing  the  subject  with  some  abruptness. 

"  Oh,"  said  Alwyne,  turning  towards  him  with  a  short 
laugh,  athe  flame  and  the  moth,  eh?" 

a  What  do  you  mean?"  exclaimed  Jack,  with  a  touch 
of  anger  in  his  tone. 

"  I  mean,  my  dear  old  chap,"  replied  Alwyne,  very  de- 
cidedly, "  that  you  want  to  know  Belle's  address  with  a 
view  to  going  over  to  Cannes,  and  that  you  want  to  go 
to  Cannes  not  to  see  Belle  but  to  see  Mrs.  Chandos.  Now, 
if  you  will  take  the  advice  of  one  who  knows,  you  will 
leave  that  lady  quite  alone.  You  will  only  make  yourself 
miserable  and  won't  do  any  good.  She  don't  care  for  men : 
she  will  be  civil  to  you  for  a  little  time,  and  the  moment 
she  sees  you  mean  business  she  will  turn  round  upon  you 
and  wish  you  good-morning.  It  has  happened  to  scores 
of  fellows." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  infor- 
mation," returned  Jack,  with  extreme  stiffness.  "  And 
now  perhaps  you  will  answer  my  question  about  Belle." 

"  Don't  get  angry,  Jack,"  said  his  cousin.  "  I  only  told 
you  the  perfect  truth  to  save  you  from  future  bother." 

"  I  don't  see  what  right  you  or  any  one  else  has  to  give 
advice  on  a  subject  which  you  merely  take  a  shot  at, — 
and  a  very  bad  shot,  too." 


84  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  We  shall  see,"  returned  Alwyne,  dryly.  "  Meantime, 
Belle  is  staying  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage  until  she  gets 
into  the  villa  she  has  taken." 

"  I  shall  go  over  and  see  her  to-morrow,"  announced 
Jack,  in  a  resolute  tone,  intended  to  forbid  further  remon- 
strance. "  Shall  I  give  her  any  message  for  you  ?" 

"  Yes :  say  I  shall  be  over  there  in  a  day  or  two ;  though, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  leave  this  place  at 
present.  That  dear  little  girl  has  become  necessary  to 
my  existence.  There  is  such  a  delightful  shy  look  in 
those  sweet  blue  eyes  of  hers,  I  could  lay  my  life  she's 
never  been  in  love.  Fancy,  Jack,  the  delight  of  being  a 

firl's  first  love, — of  making  her  heart  really  beat  for  the 
rst  -time, — of  reading  her  dawning  feelings  in  her  inno- 
cent tell-tale  eyes." 

"  Alwyne,"  said  Jack,  seriously,  "  you  have  no  right  to 
talk  like  that,  or  to  attempt  to  win  the  girl's  love,  if  you 
do  not  really  intend  anything.  Please  remember  that  I 
introduced  you  to  her,  and  that  she  and  her  mother  be- 
long to  my  mother's  party." 

"  Don't  be  afraid !  I  shall  not  forget  anything,"  re- 
turned Alwyne,  lightly. 

But  Jack's  scruples  were  not  satisfied. 

"  It  would  be  a  blackguard  thing,"  he  continued,  "  to 
draw  a  girl  on  in  the  way  you  spoke  of  just  now,  and  then 
to  leave  her  and  say  you  meant  nothing." 

"  I  don't  see  any  sign  of  Miss  Dulcie's  feelings  being  en- 
gaged at  present.  And  don't  alarm  yourself:  I  am  not  in 
the  habit  of  doing  '  blackguard  things.'  " 

Here  they  were  joined  by  a  friend,  and  the  conversation 
came  to  an  end. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Jack  announced  his 
intention  of  going  to  Cannes. 

His  mother  looked  up  quickly,  with  a  gleam  of  distress 
in  her  eyes ;  but  Lilah,  instead  of  combating  the  idea,  as 
she  was  prone  to  do  any  suggestion  which  was  to  take  him 
from  her  side,  said  she  thought  he  was  quite  right,  and 
that  he  must  give  her  love  to  dear  Belle,  and  beg  her  to 
come  over  and  spend  a  day  with  them  very  soon.  The 
fact  was  that  Lilah  would  rather  have  done  and  suffered 
anything  than  that  her  dear  brother  should  marry,  and 
she  had  been  in  a  terrible  fright  lest  he  should  seriously 


ONCE  AGAIN.  85 

take  a  fancy  to  Dulcie.  Anything,  therefore,  that  re- 
moved him  from  the  orbit  of  her  society  was  welcome  to 
the  jealous  little  sister. 

Jack  esteemed  himself  most  fortunate  to  encounter  so 
little  opposition,  and  it  was  with  a  joyous  heart  that  ho 
took  the  train  for  Cannes. 

When  he  was  ushered  into  Mrs.  Pierpoint's  sitting- 
room,  that  lady  uttered  a  cry  of  mingled  wonder  and 
pleasure. 

"  My  dear  Jack,"  she  exclaimed,  "  this  is  one  of  the 
greatest  surprises  of  my  life.  What  in  the  name  of  good 
fortune  brings  you  here  ?  Why,  what  a  holiday  the  foxes 
must  be  having!" 

She  gave  her  cheek  to  his  cousinly  salute,  and  he  availed 
himself  cordially  of  her  generosity. 

"  Why,  Belle,"  he  exclaimed,  the  content  of  his  soul  not 
being  due  alone  to  the  sight  of  his  favorite  cousin,  "  how 
well  and  how  pretty  you  look !  And  how  stout  you  are 
getting !" 

"  Jack,"  she  replied,  "  you  are  a  dear  boy,  but  you  never 
had  a  grain  of  tact.  Why  remind  me  at  your  very  first 
word  of  the  only  sorrow  of  my  life !  Stout,  too ! — the 
coarsest,  most  revolting  expression  you  could  have  chosen. 
As  if  I  was  a  green-groceress,  or  the  landlady  of  a  public 
house." 

"  My  dear,"  cried  Jack,  "  I  meant  it  as  a  compliment,  on 
my  word  of  honor :  it  becomes  you  immensely." 

"  And  it  is  for  this,"  pursued  Mrs.  Pierpoint,  tragically, 
"  that  I  have  taken  to  eating  biscuits,  which  I  hate,  and 
have  left  off  champagne  and  sweets,  which  I  love.  How- 
ever, now  you  have  stabbed  me  to  the  heart,  proceed,  and 
tell  me  what  brings  you  here." 

"  I  came  to  bring  my  mother  and  Lilah  over.  They  are 
at  Nice.  We  thought  it  might  do  poor  little  Lilah  good, 
and  the  day  before  yesterday  we  met  Alwyne  at  Monte 
Carlo,  and  he  told  us  you  were  here." 

"  Is  that  horrid  Mrs.  Cunningham  there  ?"  asked  Belle, 
with  a  tone  of  lively  concern. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Jack.  "  I  did  not  see  Alwyne 
speak  to  any  lady  there  ;  and  he  returned  to  Nice  with  us, 
and  is  there  now." 

"  Eeally  ?    Why,  what  is  he  doing  at  Nice  ?" 

8 


86  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Just  at  present,"  replied  Jack,  "  he  is  making  himself 
very  agreeable  to  a  young  lady  of  our  party,  and  has  dis- 
covered that  he  much  prefers  girls  to  married  women." 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  cried  Belle.  "  Who  is  she  ?  and  is 
he  really  serious  ?  I  do  wish  he  would  marry  some  nice 
girl  and  settle  down.  He  has  an  unfortunate  knack  of 
always  taking  up  with  the  most  objectionable  women. 
Tell  me  quick,  Jack,  who  is  she  ?" 

"  Miss  Vernon, — Miss  Dulcie  Yernon.  Her  mother  and 
mine  were  at  school  together,  and  had  not  seen  each  other 
for  years,  till,  oddly  enough,  they  met  in  the  railway-car- 
riage going  to  Dover;  and  we  have  been  together  ever 
since." 

"  What  is  she  like  ?  Is  she  nice  ?  Is  she  pretty  ?  Will 
she  do  ?" 

"  She  is  everything  that  can  be  desired,"  laughed  Jack. 
"  My  only  fear  is  that  he  will  pay  her  too  much  attention, 
and  not  mean  anything." 

"Oh,"  cried  Belle,  "I  must  go  over  and  inspect  her. 
The  one  thing  in  the  world  that  I  want  is  to  see  that  boy 
nicely  married.  I  live  in  perpetual  fear  of  some  dreadful 
thing  happening  to  him,  and  of  his  being  obliged  to  marry 
some  horrid  woman  or  other  who  will  pretend  he  has 
compromised  her." 

"  I  bring  a  special  message,  imploring  you  to  come  over 
and  spend  the  day  with  us.  When  shall  it  be?  To- 
morrow ?" 

"Yes:  to-morrow  will  suit  me  beautifully." 

Jack  was  delighted  at  the  turn  things  had  taken.  His 
visit  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"  But,  Jack,"  exclaimed  his  cousin,  with  a  searching 
glance,  "if  she  is  so  very  desirable,  and  you  have  been 
travelling  with  her,  and  are  still  stopping  on  and  leaving 
your  beloved  fox,  how  is  it  that  your  young  affections 
have  not  become  entangled  ?" 

"  Oh,"  answered  Jack,  lightly,  "  you  know,  Belle,  that 
I  am  not  at  all  inflammable." 

Belle  looked  at  him  shrewdly. 

"  When  you  are  kindled,  I  expect  you  will  get  very 
much  burned  indeed.  That  is  always  the  way  with  you 
uninflammable  people." 

Deep  down  in  his  heart,  Jack  suspected  that  his  cousin's 


ONCE  AGAIN.  87 

words  were  true,  but  he  put  on  an  air  of  unconcern,  and 
said, — 

"  I  am  safe  enough,  my  dear." 

"  At  present,"  she  answered,  laughing. 

Then,  little  knowing  how  oracular  were  her  words, — 

"  But  who  can  tell  what  a  day  may  .bring  forth  ?  A 
heart  is  lost  all  in  a  moment,  just  like  one's  dressing-case 
on  a  journey.  But  to  go  back  to  Alwyne.  Vernoii — 
Yernon — what  Yernon  ?" 

"  There  is  a  relation  of  theirs  staying  here,"  said  Jack, 
so  desperately  afraid  of  his  face  betraying  him  that  ho 
walked  to  the  window  and  pretended  to  be  looking  at 
some  object  outside, — "  a  cousin, — a  Mrs.  Chandos." 

u  Mrs.  Chandos !"  cried  Belle  :  "  you  don't  say  so !  How 
very  curious !" 


CHAPTEE  X. 

MRS.  PIERPOINT  asked  Jack  a  dozen  questions  about 
Mrs.  Chandos,  and  before  he  had  answered  half  of  them 
his  secret  was  in  her  possession.  But  she  was  too  clever 
to  let  him  be  aware  of  her  discovery,  and  good-naturedly 
talked  away  on  the  subject  which  interested  him  so 
vitally  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world.  She  did 
not  even  wait  for  his  interrogatories,  but  proceeded  to  tell 
him  all  that  he  most  wanted  to  know,  and  to  delight  him 
and  increase  his  affection  by  singing  the  praises  of  the 
lady  of  his  love. 

"  She  is  perfectly  charming,"  Mrs.  Pierpoint  declared  ; 
"  so  clever,  so  graceful,  so  original ;  every  one  wants  to 
know  her.  But  she  is  very  retiring,  and  so  people  are  ill- 
natured  and  declare  that  she  is  proud  and  conceited ;  but 
I  am  sure  she  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  My  belief  is  that 
she  is  morbid  on  the  subject  of  her  position  as  a  divorced 
woman  ;  but  every  one  knows  that  not  a  shadow  of  blame 
attaches  to  her." 

"Is  her  husband  alive?"  Jack  ventured  to  ask. 

"  He  is  drinking  himself  to  death  as  fast  as  he  can." 
answered  Mrs.  Pierpoint.  "  I  do  not  quite  know  the  real 
story,  but  I  believe  that  he  drank  before  his  marriage 


88  ONCE  AGAIN. 

(and  that  her  father  knew  it),  but,  as  he  was  desperately 
in  love  with  her,  he  gave  it  up  for  a  time  and  broke  out 
again  very  soon  after  their  marriage.  She  was  horrified, 
and  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her  disgust  for  him ;  then  he 
struck  her,  and  she  left  him.  After  that,  he  behaved  in  a 
manner  which  made  it  a  very  simple  matter  for  her  to  get 
a  divorce." 

Jack  was  not  in  the  least  aware  that  his  hands  were 
clinched  like  a  vice  round  his  stick,  and  that  his  eyes 
were  fixed  with  startling  intensity  on  his  cousin's  face ; 
and  Mrs.  Pierpoint  was  kind  enough  not  to  seem  to  notice 
the  strangeness  of  his  behavior.  She  turned  carelessly  to 
her  work-basket  and  took  out  a  piece  of  knitting. 

"  What  wretches  some  men  are !"  she  said,  with  a  light 
laugh :  "  it  is  no  wonder  she  hates  all  the  species." 

"  No  wonder,  indeed,"  echoed  Jack,  with  a  long-drawn 
sigh.  "  But  does  she  ?"  eagerly. 

"  So  I  am  told.  The  feeling  is  not  reciprocal:  men 
admire  her  immensely." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  can  help  it,"  said  Jack,  inno- 
cently. " Does  she  live  alone?" 

"  No ;  she  is  never  quite  alone.  She  hates  solitude,  and 
she  has  two  or  three  devoted  friends  between  whom  she 
divides  her  time.  She  is  well  off  since  her  father's  death, 
and  a  woman  who  has  money  need  never  be  friendless. 
Just  now  she  is  staying  with  Mrs.  Herbert ;  they  have 
taken  a  villa  together.  Mrs.  Herbert  is  a  clever,  agree- 
able woman,  dreadfully  delicate,  and  they  bemoan  life  to- 
gether in  great  luxury  and  comfort.  By  the  way,  Jack, 
suppose  we  go  and  call  on  them  after  lunch.  What  do 
you  say  ?" 

Jack  tried  not  to  show  his  eagerness,  but  it  displayed 
itself  in  an  increased  show  of  affection  for  his  cousin. 
During  luncheon  he  was  so  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to 
her  that  she  said,  with  a  malicious  smile, — 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  have  a  dreadful  suspicion  that  you  are 
either  falling  in  love  with  me  or  are  about  to.  Now, 
please  don't,  because  I  have  always  gone  in  for  the 
strictest  propriety  since  my  marriage,  and  I  would  not 
give  Algy  a  moment's  uneasiness  for  the  world." 

Jack  laughed  gayly. 

uAlgy  is" the  luckiest  man  in  the  world,"  he  said,  "and. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  89 

if  I  were  not  your  cousin,  heaven  knows  but  what  I 
might  fall  a  victim  to  your  charms.  But  up  to  this  time 
I  haven't  passed  the  cousinly  boundary,  have  I,  Belle? 
You  know  cousins  are-  allowed  great  latitude." 

u  I  thought  it  best  to  remind  you  in  time,"  she  replied, 
demurely. 

Jack  was  in  a  seventh  heaven  at  the  thought  of  the 
coming  visit.  What  did  he  hope  or  expect  from  it  ?  He 
could  not  have  told;  it  was  a  feeling  of  intense  joy  such 
as  comes  to  a  child  who  hears  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  its 
lesson  that  it  is  to  have  a  holiday.  Only  one  anxiety 
troubled  him, — the  fear  lest  Mrs.  Chandos  should  not  be 
at  home.  When,  on  reaching  the  villa,  that  fear  was  dis- 
pelled, and  they  were  being  ushered  through  the  palm- 
lined  hall  to  the  salon,  his  heart  beat  high,  his  blue  eyes 
danced  with  pleasure.  And  in  another  second  the  illusion 
was  gone.  The  servant  opened  the  door  so  noiselessly 
that  the  occupants  of  the  room  were  not  aware  of  the 
presence  of  visitors  until  their  names  were  announced. 

There  were  two  persons  sitting  on  a  large  couch  with 
their  backs  to  the  door,  evidently  engrossed  in  an  absorb- 
ing discussion.  They  were  bending  towards  each  other 
with  eager  and  interested  looks.  One  was  Mrs.  Chandos, 
the  other  a  man,  and  a  pang  of  jealousy  shot  through 
Jack's  heart,  and  the  blue  vault  of  his  seventh  heaven 
was  hidden  by  inky  clouds.  Before  Mrs.  Chandos  greeted 
him,  before  she  had  time  to  present  her  companion  to  the 
new-comers,  Jack  knew  instinctively  who  this  man  was. 
And  when  Mrs.  Chandos  murmured,  "  Mrs.  Pierpoint,  Sir 
John  Chester,  Mr.  Bertram,"  he  was  quite  prepared  for 
the  name.  As  was  natural,  the  opposite  sexes  paired :  Sir 
John  seated  himself  near  Mrs.  Chandos,  but  not  on  the 
couch  which  Bertram  had  vacated;  and  Mrs.  Pierpoint 
took  possession  of  Mr.  Bertram. 

The  pleasure  which  Jack  had  so  keenly  anticipated  was 
lost  in  disappointment ;  a  cruel  feeling  of  being  de  trop,  of 
having  interrupted  a  pleasant  tete-d-tete,  overwhelmed  him. 
Although  Mrs.  Chandos's  manner  was  courteous  and  even 
kind,  poor  Jack  was  weighed  upon  by  the  sense  that  he 
was  not  wanted.  A  miserable  shyness  crept  over  him : 
every  particle  of  the  blithe  boldness  which  he  had  felt 
five  minutes  ago  deserted  him :  he  was  merely  an  in- 

8* 


90  ONCE  AGAIN. 

truder.  Instead  of  pouring  out  his  pleasure  at  seeing 
her,  of  begging  her  to  come  over  to  Nice  again  as  he 
had  intended,  of  proposing  another  party  to  Monte  Carlo, 
he  was  oppressed  by  the  feeling  that  he  was  nothing  to 
her,  that  he  in  no  wise  interested  her,  that  she  could  not 
care  two  straws  for  his  company  under  any  circumstances, 
and  that  he  was  only  a  stupid,  fox-hunting  young  squire 
who  could  not  hope  to  inspire  any  interest  in  this  charm 
ing,  clever  woman  of  the  world. 

He  stole  a  glance  at  Bertram,  who  was  chatting  gayly 
away  to  Mrs.  Pierpoint,  evidently  amusing  her  by  his 
conversation.  He  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  with  a  face 
not  handsome  but  of  a  pleasing  expression :  his  manner 
was  perfect,  his  voice  particularly  agreeable.  Certainly 
he  did  not  fulfil  the  conventional  idea  that  Jack  had 
formed  of  him  as  an  atheist  and  the  evil  genius  of  Mrs. 
Chandos's  life. 

As  he  sat  almost  tongue-tied,  how  bitterly  he  envied 
the  man's  genial  ease  of  manner !  with  what  mortification 
he  secretly  contrasted  it  with  his  own  awkwardness! 
Jack  was  not  himself  to-day,  for  indeed  he  was  wont  to 
have  plenty  of  cheery  talk  for  women  as  well  as  for  his 
own  sex. 

Mrs.  Chandos  did  most  of  the  talking,  and  Jack  an- 
swered as  best  he  might,  weighted  with  the  dreadful  sense 
that  she  did  not  want  him,  that  he  was  boring  her,  and 
that  she  was  dying  to  get  back  to  the  engrossing  discus- 
sion which  he  had  interrupted. 

Instead  of  the  delight  he  had  anticipated,  he  was  ex- 
periencing  purgatory.  He  wished  that  his  cousin  would 
give  the  signal  for  departure :  he  felt  even  more  anxiouR 
to  get  away  than  he  had  been  to  come.  But  Belle  showed 
no  intention  of  moving :  she  was  amused  by  her  conversa- 
tion with  Mr.  Bertram,  and  she  thought  she  was  doing 
Jack  the  greatest  kindness  in  giving  him  the  opportunity 
of  a  long  chat  with  the  lady  of  his  love. 

With  all  her  tact,  Mrs.  Chandos  could  not  help  at  last 
showing  a  little  weariness  at  the  prolonged  visit,  and  poor 
Jack,  whose  perceptions  were  terribly  acute  this  after- 
noon, was  miserable  in  the  consciousness  that  she  was 
bored.  At  last  he  said  desperately  to  Belle  that  he  was 
afraid  of  missing  his  train  back  to  Nice,  although  the  ex- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  91 

cuse  was  of  the  baldest.  But  she  took  the  hint,  having 
become  suddenly  aware  that  the  conversation  of  the  other 
pair  was  somewhat  strained  and  lagging. 

When  they  regained  the  carriage,  Jack's  face  was  so 
crestfallen  and  his  manner  so  changed  that,  in  the  kind- 
ness of  her  heart,  Belle  forbore  to  make  any  comment, 
and  rattled  on  with  the  first  thing  which  came  into  her 
head.  It  was  praise  of  Mr.  Bertram. 

"  He  is  perfectly  charming,"  she  said.  "  I  have  heard 
so  much  of  him,  and  always  wanted  to  meet  him.  He  is 
more  interesting  than  a  dozen  young  men  ;  and  I  feel  quite 
capable  of  falling  in  love  with  him  myself." 

Belle  had  no  idea  of  the  dagger  she  was  planting  in 
Jack's  heart,  or  that  he  was  already  bitterly  jealous  of 
Henry  Bertram. 

As  Jack  went  back  to  Nice,  his  thoughts  were  of  the 
gloomiest.  He  wished  he  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Chandos. 
He  felt  as  though  he  would  never  be  happy  again.  There 
was  only  one  thing  for  him  to  do, — to  get  back  to  his 
hunting  and  his  home  interests.  But,  somehow,  they  had 
lost  their  savor  now,  and  he  felt  a  desperate  clinging  to 
this  spot,  which  a  few  days  ago  he  had  vowed  he  could 
not  stand  more  than  a  fortnight  of  at  the  outside. 

Meanwhile,  Alwyne  had  been  spending  a  very  much 
more  agreeable  day.  He  had  sat  and  walked  with  Dulcie 
and  her  mother  on  the  Promenade  in  the  morning,  and 
he  had  driven  with  Dulcie  and  Lilah  in  the  afternoon.  It 
was  very  evident,  from  the  glowing  expression  of  his  fine 
hazel  eyes,  that  his  sentiments  towards  the  fair  girl  op- 
posite him  were  hourly  intensifying,  and  Lilah  was  de- 
lighted to  perceive  it.  Dulcie's  manner  was  shy  and  a 
little  embarrassed,  but  Alwyne  was  very  far  from  guessing 
the  real  cause  of  this,  and  put  it  down  to  sweet  modesty 
and  dawning  love.  In  reality,  Dulcie's  thoughts  were 
chiefly  concerned  with  Noel, — with  wondering  if  it  were 
an  absolute  fact  that  he  was  nothing  to  her  and  could  in 
no  way  control  her  future  life  and  actions, — and  partly 
with  a  sense  of  shame  that  her  affection  for  him,  which 
she  had  rated  so  highly,  had  not  only  dwindled  away  to 
nothing,  but  threatened  to  change  into  positive  aversion, 
whilst  it  was  useless  to  conceal  from  herself  that  Alwyne's 
society  and  attentions  were  extremely  agreeable  to  her. 


92  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Morton  was  in  the  highest  spirits.  She  enjoyed  the 
new  life  immensely :  the  visitors'  servants  at  the  hotel 
formed  quite  a  gay  and  brilliant  society,  and  she  had  be- 
come bosom  friends  with  Mrs.  Chester's  maid,  who  gave 
her  the  minutest  particulars  of  all  that  concerned  her 
family.  Morton  had  at  first  made  up  her  mind  to  a  match 
between  her  young  lady  and  Sir  John,  but,  seeing  this  did 
not  appear  to  progress  as  she  had  anticipated,  she  next 
turned  her  thoughts  to  his  cousin.  True,  he  had  no  title, 
but  the  maid  told  her  that  he  was  a  good  deal  richer  than 
Sir  John,  and  had  a  finer  country  place. 

"  Why,  Miss  Dulcie,"  said  Morton,  on  her  young  lady's 
return  from  driving,  "you  are  looking  quite  yourself 
again,  I  declare.  I  expect" — significantly — uyou  have 
been  enjoying  your  drive." 

"  Yes,  I  have,  immensely,"  answered  Dulcie,  with  a 
slight  blush.  And  then  she  sat  down  and  looked  pen- 
sively out  of  the  window. 

"What  a  good-looking  young  gentleman  Mr.  Temple 
is !"  remarked  Morton,  tentatively.  "  Much  handsomer 
than  Sir  John." 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  Dulcie. 

"  Now,  why  shouldn't  you  be  Mrs.  Temple  ?"  exclaimed 
Morton.  "  Anybody  can  see  it  only  remains  with  you, 
Miss  Dulcie.  He  has  lots  of  money  and  a  fine  place ;  and 
I'm  sure  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  to  save  more  trouble, 
is  just  to  get  married  right  off." 

Dulcie  turned  uneasily  in  her  chair. 

"  Morton,"  she  asked,  "  are  you  sure  mamma  said  that — 
that  affair  at  the  registry  office  was  illegal?" 

"  Quite  sure,"  answered  Morton,  stoutly.  "  She  said  it 
as  plain  as  possible,  and  about  your  being  a  ward  in 
chancery,  and  all  of  us  being  liable  to  be  prosecuted.  Oh, 
that's  right  enough !" 

"  I  wish  I  was  quite  sure,"  uttered  Dulcie. 

"  Why,  Miss  Dulcie,  what's  to  make  you  doubt  it  ?  You 
know  your  mamma  isn't  the  lady  to  say  a  thing  if  it  wasn't 
true.  And  she  says  to  me  at  the  time,  '  The  marriage  is 
illegal ;  and  think,  Morton,'  she  says,  '  what  dreadful  trouble 
you  might  have  brought  my  daughter  into'  You  take  my 
advice :  if  Mr.  Temple  proposes  to  you, — and  any  one  can 
see  with  half  an  eye  that  you've  only  to  look  kind  at  him 


ONCE  AGAIN.  93 

and  he  will, — you  jump  at  it,  and  forget  all  that's  past  and! 
gone." 

"  But  suppose," — and  Dulcie  trembled  and  her  eyes 
dilated, — "  suppose  he  ever  heard  anything  about  the 
other?" 

"  Who's  to  tell  him?"  cried  Morton.  "I  expect  Mr. 
Trevor,  if  he  ever  does  recover,  will  be  glad  enough  to 
hold  his  tongue.  He  won't  want  to  stand  up  and  be  shot 
at ;  and  that's  what  Mr.  Temple  'ud  do  in  precious  quick 
time,  you  may  depend,  if  he  came  troubling." 

Dulcie  made  up  her  weak  mind  to  accept  Alwyne's  at- 
tentions. Half  an  hour  later  she  was  alone  in  the  sitting- 
room,  when  he  came  in  with  a  message  from  Mrs.  Chester. 
After  he  had  delivered  it,  he  stayed  on  a  few  minutes,  and 
they  stood  together  looking  out  of  the  window.  Suddenly 
Alwyne  took  Dulcie's  hand,  and,  seeing  how  she  trembled, 
though  she  made  no  effort  to  release  it,  he,  fascinated  by 
her  beauty  and  this  evidence  of  maiden  modesty,  bent  to- 
wards her  and  touched  her  lips  with  his.  A  sudden  flame 
covered  her  from  throat  to  brow,  and  she  drew  herself 
away  from  him.  For,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  was  the 
first  time  that  a  man's  lips  had  kissed  hers,  her  courtship 
with  Noel  having  taken  place  entirely  in  the  open  air  and 
in  public. 

Before  Alwyne  could  follow  up  his  advance,  as  the  fire 
in  his  eyes  betrayed  his  intention  of  doing,  the  door  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Yernon  appeared.  In  an  instant  she  grasped  the 
situation,  and  horror  filled  her  breast.  Here  was  an  awful 
dilemma.  Her  daughter  married  to  one  man  and  receiv- 
ing— in  ignorance,  it  is  true — the  advances  of  another ! 

But  she  gave  not  the  faintest  sign  of  observing  the  con- 
fusion of  the  pair,  and  listened  with  an  excellent  grace  to 
the  message  which  Alwyne  promptly  bethought  himself 
of  delivering.  She  took  care  that  he  should  have  no  op- 
portunity of  speaking  alone  with  Dulcie  again  that  even- 
ing, and  Alwyne,  who  was  burning  to  make  love  to  this 
pretty  creature  with  whom  he  was  falling  very  much  in 
love,  was  furious  at  being  baffled  in  his  intentions. 

When  Mrs.  Yernon  retired  that  night  she  was  a  prey  to 
the  most  painful  and  harassing  thoughts.  She  was  ex- 
asperated with  Dulcie.  Was  the  girl  devoid  of  all  heart, 
of  all  sense  of  decency,  that,  after  having  gone  through 


94  ONCE  AGAIN. 

so  much  for  the  sake  of  one  man,  she  should  be  ready 
before  a  month  had  elapsed  to  fall  into  the  arms  of 
another? 

And  now  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Should  she  tell  Dulcie 
that  her  marriage  was  indeed  no  sham,  but  a  miserable 
reality?  No,  she  was  afraid  to  do  that  until  she  knew 
whether  Noel  would  recover.  She  had  no  confidence  in 
her  daughter  now :  she  did  not  know  what  step  the  fool- 
ish, headstrong  girl  might  take  next.  She  might  elect  to 
escape  to  her  husband  and  bring  about  the  esclandre  which 
was  the  terror  of  Mrs.  Yernon's  life.  She  had  resolved 
that  if  the  wretched  man,  as  she  called  him  in  her 
thoughts,  did  recover,  he  should  not  claim  his  bride  until 
a  pretence  of  courtship  and  a  religious  ceremony  had  been 
gone  through. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  mercifully  he  should  die,  it  would 
be  far  better  that  Dulcie  should  continue  to  believe  the 
marriage  had  been  invalid,  in  which  case  fear  of  the  dis- 
grace of  its  being  revealed  would  insure  her  keeping  it  a 
profound  secret.  She  must  by  some  means  keep  young 
Temple  and  her  daughter  apart;  but,  having  discovered 
the  girPs  powers  of  duplicity,  she  was  horribly  afraid  of 
being  outwitted  by  her.  To  mention  the  subject  to  Dulcie 
might  be  fatal :  if  she  forbade  her  to  give  encourage- 
ment to  Alwyne  she  might  ask  leading  questions  to  which 
it  would  be  impossible  to  give  misleading  answers.  And 
if  Dulcie  regained  her  freedom  the  fact  was  not  to  be  lost 
sight  of  that  Alwyne  would  be  an  excellent  match. 

It  required  an  immense  amount  of  manoeuvring  to  pre- 
vent the  young  people  from  conversing  privately  with  each 
other,  but  Mrs.  Yernon  devoted  her  entire  mind  to  the  task. 
Hud  she  been  playing  her  cards  in  order  to  catch  this 
spoiled,  self-willed  young  man,  she  could  not  have  suc- 
ceeded more  perfectly  than  by  her  present  action.  He 
chafed  fiercely  :  his  passion  rose  to  fever-heat.  Marriage, 
which  he  hated  and  avoided,  now  occupied  a  prominent 
place  in  his  designs.  What  on  earth  did  the  woman  ex- 
pect? he  asked  furiously  of  himself.  Did  she  want  a 
prince  of  the  blood,  that  he,  Alwyne  Temple,  who  had 
been  angled  for  by  so  many  mothers  and  daughters, — • 
women  of  title,  too,  by  Jove ! — was  not  good  enough  for 
her?  Had  she  set  her  mind  upon  Jack,  who,  in  his 


ONCE  AGAIN.  95 

cousin's  opinion,  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  himself  in 
any  respect,  except  perhaps  his  trumpery  baronetcy  ?  If 
she  had  been  very  religious,  like  his  aunt,  he  might  have 
imagined  that  she  disapproved  of  episodes  in  his  life  that 
might  have  reached  her  ears ;  but  no !  she  was  a  thorough 
woman  of  the  world  :  no  squeamishness  of  that  sort  would 
affect  her.  He  would  have  asked  Dulcie ;  but  no  chance 
presented  itself. 

For  three  days  Mrs.  Yernon's  success  was  complete  in 
keeping  her  daughter  beside  her ;  on  the  fourth  she  was 
attacked  by  a  terrible  migraine,  which  rendered  her 
absolutely  insensible  and  indifferent  to  anything  but  her 
own  sufferings. 

Dulcie  spent  the  morning  with  the  Chester  family,  and 
Alwyne,  rejoicing  in  the  discomfiture  of  his  foe,  made  plans 
for  outwitting  her  altogether.  He  took  Jack  into  confi- 
dence and  invoked  his  aid,  and  Jack,  who  was  a  victim  to 
the  tender  passion  at  that  moment,  was  only  too  ready  to 
sympathize  with  and  help  his  cousin. 

A  big  carriage  was  to  be  ordered  for  the  afternoon. 
Mrs.  Chester,  Lilah,  Dulcie,  and  Alwyne  were  to  go  in- 
side, and  Jack  on  the  box.  When  they  came  to  a  certain 
mountainous  region,  the  three  active  members  of  the  party 
were  to  descend  and  walk,  and  Jack  was  to  leave  the 
other  pair  to  each  other's  society.  Then  Alwyne  would 
ask  for  and  receive  explanations,  and — well,  who  knew 
what  the  end  of  it  might  be  ? 

All  fell  out  as  Alwyne  had  planned,  and  in  due  course, 
the  walkers  having  alighted,  the  carriage  having  turned 
a  corner,  Jack  having  unaccountably  disappeared,  the  two 
young  people  were  to  all  intents  and  purposes  alone  in  the 
wide  world. 

Alwyne's  heart  beat  with  unusual  rapidity :  he  had  very 
often  been  alone  with  a  woman  to  whom  he  intended  to 
make  love,  but,  somehow,  this  was  different:  there  was 
an  unwonted  excitement  about  it.  In  former  cases  it  had 
generally  been  a  foregone  conclusion  how  his  advances 
would  be  received,  but  now  all  was  uncertainty.  This 
pretty,  charming  girl  blushed  and  smiled  under  his  glances, 
but  he  had  no  proof  that  he  had  awakened  any  strong 
emotion  in  her  modest  breast,  or  that  she  was  prepared  to 
place  her  fate  in  his  hands. 


96  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Alwyne's  face  was  pale ;  his  eyes  shone  with  feverish 
brilliancy ;  for  once  in  his  life  his  supreme  confidence  in 
his  own  powers  of  pleasing  failed  him :  he  was  more  diffi- 
dent in  the  presence  of  this  young  girl  than  he  had  ever 
felt  since  his  first  love-affair. 

The  moment  had  come  when  he  was  to  put  his  fate  "  to 
the  touch." 


CHAPTEK  XI. 

DULCIE'S  emotions  were,  taking  into  account  her  natur- 
ally phlegmatic  disposition,  considerably  excited.  Mingled 
with  the  pleasure  of  being  in  Alwyne's  company,  with  a 
decided  intuition  of  the  nature  of  his  feelings,  were  the 
elements  of  fear  and  uncertainty,  and  these  had  the  effect 
of  enhancing  the  situation  and  giving  a  keener  interest  to 
it.  The  love  she  had  once  imagined  she  felt  for  Noel  had 
now  transferred  itself  to  Alwyne :  indeed,  she  found  him 
much  handsomer  and  more  attractive  than  poor  Noel.  In 
his  case  there  was  no  obstacle  of  poverty,  and  she  looked 
to  him  to  save  her  from  the  fears,  perplexities,  and  evil 
consequences  of  her  past  folly.  She  recognized  now  that 
it  had  been  folly. 

The  feelings  of  both  being  worked  up  to  a  high  pitch, 
it  was  not  long  before  they  broke  into  expression.  Alwyne 
suddenly  caught  Dulcie's  hand,  and  the  electric  current  of 
sympathy  flashed  from  one  to  the  other.  It  saved  the 
necessity  for  further  preamble. 

"My  darling!"  cried  Alwyne,  and  caught  fair  Dulcie  in 
his  arms. 

Modesty  and  a  sense  of  fear  not  altogether  painful 
caused  the  girl  to  resist  his  embrace,  but  she  trembled  so 
much  that  Alwyne  led  her  to  the  bank  and  seated  her 
there. 

"Have  I  frightened  you?  What  a  brute  I  am!"  he 
cried,  with  words  and  gestures  suitable  to  the  situation ; 
for,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  it  is  no  longer  possible  to 
be  original  either  in  making  love  or  anything  else.  And 
then  he  implored  her  to  say  she  did  not  hate  him,  and 
Dulcie  coyly  reassured  him. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  97 

"  Tell  mo,"  he  entreated,  "  why  you  have  seemed  to 
avoid  me  lately, — why  I  have  never  had  a  chance  of  say- 
ing a  word  alone  to  you." 

Now,  if  in  former  times — that  is  to  say,  before  the  last 
three  months — Dulcie  had  entertained  any  affection  for 
her  mother,  it  existed  no  longer,  and  she  was  only  too 
glad  of  the  opportunity  of  finding  fault  with  and  throw- 
ing blame  upon  her. 

"  It  was  mamma's  doing,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not  know 
why,  but  she  hates  me  to  talk  to  any  one  or  to  do  any- 
thing I  want  to." 

Alwyne  took  a  mental  oath  that  his  mother-in-law 
should  be  ousted  from  his  menage  in  the  happy  future. 

"  What  an  infernal  shame,  my  darling !"  he  cried.  "  It 
is  high  time  you  were  taken  from  her  and  given  to  some 
one  who  would  never  thwart  you  in  a  single  wish." 

Alwyne  was  probably  not  aware  what  a  false  and  rash 
assertion  he  was  making.  Then  he  continued,  eagerly, — 

"Why  should  your  mother  object  to  me?  What  has 
she  to  say  against  me  ?" 

"  Oh,"  returned  Dulcie,  "  she  has  never  said  anything 
against  you,  but  I  think  she  likes  me  to  feel  that  I  am 
entirely  under  her  thumb,  just  as  if  I  was  ten  years  old." 

"  I  do  not  care  a  straw  what  she  thinks,"  cried  Alwyne, 
disrespectfully,  "if  only  I  could  know  that  you  cared 
about  me.  Tell  me,  darling,"  once  more  taking  her  hand, 
"  do  you  think  you  could  love  me  ?  Will  you  be  my 
wife  ?'" 

A  sudden  remembrance  flashed  across  Dulcie  of  that 
scene  in  the  registry  office,  and  made  her  falter  and  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment. 

Alwyne,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  thought  that  alarmed 
his  beloved,  saw  only  the  diffidence  of  modesty  in  her  hesi- 
lation,  and  pressed  his  suit  with  increased  ardor. 

Dulcie  consented  to  his  entreaties ;  the  bond  was  sealed 
in  the  manner  which  custom  and  inclination  dictate,  and 
they  then  began  to  remember  that  the  occupants  of  the 
carriage  would  be  waiting  for  them. 

"Will  you  tell  your  mother?"  Alwyne  asked,  as  they 
pursued  their  way,  and  Dulcie's  face  blanched  as  she 
cried, — 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !     Not  for  the  world  I" 

E          g  9 


98  ONCE  AGAIN. 

u  Then  I  will !"  said  Alwyne,  with  a  boldness  that  com- 
forted his  betrothed, — "  the  very  instant  that  she  is  well 
enough  to  see  me." 

At  this  moment  Sir  John  was  seen  in  the  distance  wav- 
ing frantically  to  them. 

"  Do  not  say  a  word  to  any  one  until  you  have  seen 
mamma!"  pleaded  Dulcie,  earnestly;  and  Alwyne  prom- 
ised ;  but  he  could  not  answer  for  his  face,  and  that  told 
its  tale  very  plainly  indeed. 

Lilah  was  quite  irritable  when  they  reached  the  car- 
riage. 

"  We  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  she  exclaimed, 
pettishly.  "  We  shall  not  get  home  till  midnight." 

Alwyne  and  Dulcie  were  both  so  happy  that  they  could 
afford  to  treat  Lilah's  petulance  with  good  humor,  and 
they  apologized  humbly  for  having  kept  her  waiting.  But 
she  was  cross,  and  would  not  speak  all  the  way  home. 

"  It  was  just  like  that  selfish  Alwyne,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, forgetting — poor  little  girl ! — that  the  epithet  applied 
with  even  greater  force  to  herself. 

When  Dulcie  entered  the  sitting-room  on  her  return, 
she  found  her  mother  lying  on  the  sofa  drinking  tea.  Her 
head  was  better,  although  she  still  felt  weak. 

She  did  not  reproach  her  daughter  for  having  absented 
herself  without  leave,  but  it  was  evident  from  her  manner 
that  she  was  ill  pleased. 

"  I  shall  not  be  well  enough  to  dine  at  the  table-d'hote" 
she  said ;  "  so,  as  I  do  not  care  for  you  to  dine  there  with- 
out me,  I  will  order  a  cutlet  for  you  up  here." 

"  Surely,"  replied  Dulcie,  who  did  not  relish  the  idea  of 
a  long  evening  tete-a-tete  with  her  mother,  <;  Mrs.  Chester 
is  sufficient  chaperon  for  me." 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  dine  down-stairs  without  me," 
repeated  Mrs.  Yernon,  in  a  tone  that  was  intended  to  put 
an  end  to  the  discussion. 

The  sullen  look  which  often  darkened  Dulcie's  face  now 
came  into  it,  and  she  left  the  room  without  another  word. 
Mrs.  Yernon  sighed,  as  many  a  mother  sighs  who,  after 
yeai^s  of  love  and  devotion  to  a  child,  finds  herself  repaid 
by  hostility  and  coldness  the  moment  she  thwarts  her  in 
a  love-  or  fancied  love-matter. 

The  evening  was  no  pleasant  one.     Three  months  ago 


ONCE  AGAIN.  99 

Dulcie  would  have  been  affectionate  and  sympathetic  in 
any  ailment  of  her  mother's ;  to-night  she  was  almost  os- 
tentatiously indifferent  to  Mrs.  Yernon's  discomfort,  and 
did  not  make  even  the  smallest  inquiry  about  or  reference 
to  her  sufferings.  At  half-past  nine  she  went  to  bed. 

It  had  been  arranged  between  her  and  Alwyne  that,  if 
her  mother  was  sufficiently  recovered  by  the  next  morn- 
ing to  grant  him  an  interview,  Dulcie  was  to  stand  at  tho 
window  at  half-past  ten,  holding  her  handkerchief  in  her 
hand.  If  an  interview  was  not  to  be  hoped  for,  there 
would  be  no  handkerchief. 

It  was  with  joy  that  Alwyne  saw  the  little  cambric 
token  gently  waving  as  he 'walked  by  the  hotel.  Ten 
minutes  later  a  note  was  handed  to  Mrs.  Yernon,  asking 
her  if  she  would  permit  Alwyne  to  do  himself  the  honor 
of  calling  upon  her  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Mrs.  Yernon, 
groaning  to  herself,  sent  an  answer  saying  that  she  would 
receive  Mr.  Temple  at  eleven  o'clock.  She  then  hurried 
to  Dulcie's  room  to  demand  the  explanation  which  she, 
alas !  guessed  too  well.  The  young  lady  was  not  to  be 
found.  She  had  taken  refuge  in  Morton's  room,  two 
flights  of  stairs  higher  up,  and  thither  it  did  not  occur  to 
Mrs.  Yernon  to  follow  her.  Swiftly  she  made  up  her 
mind  how  to  act.  She  knew  instinctively  that  Alwyne 
was  prejudiced  against  her  and  regarded  her  as  an  adver- 
sary, and  she  half  smiled  to  herself  at  the  irony  of  fate 
as  she  thought  how  gladly  and  thankfully  she  would  have 
listened  to  his  suit  but  for  Dulcie's  mad  folly. 

Alwyne  entered  with  a  somewhat  defiant  air  which  he 
found  it  impossible  to  disguise ;  but  he  had  sufficient  good 
manners  to  inquire  with  some  show  of  interest  after  Mrs. 
Yernon's  health.  He  was  a  little  surprised  by  the  ex- 
treme graciousness  and  pleasantness  of  her  manner,  and 
insensibly  his  own  became  more  genial,  and  he  felt  less 
antipathetic  towards  her.  The  nervousness  which  besets 
every  suppliant  for  something  he  greatly  desires  and  is 
not  sure  of  obtaining  nevertheless  overcame  him.  His 
nether  lip  trembled  slightly,  and  he  drew  his  thick  gold 
rings  uneasily  on  and  off  his  finger.  But  he  plunged 
manfully  into  his  subject. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  surprised  at  my  asking 
you  to  see  me,  but — but  .  .  .  The  fact  is,"  he  blurted  out, 


100  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  I  love  your  daughter,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  your  con- 
sent to — to  my  marrying  her." 

The  sadness  which  Mrs.  Yernon  genuinely  felt  at  not 
being  able  to  give  the  answer  she  would  so  gladly  have 
done  stole  into  her  face,  and  she  said,  very  gently, — 

"I  am  a  little  surprised,  I  must  confess,  at  the  sudden- 
ness of  your  proposal,  as  you  have  only  known  my  dear 
child  for  such  a  very  short  time ;  but "  And  she  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Perhaps,"  exclaimed  Alwyne,  beginning  to  feel  more 
hopeful  at  this  reception,  "you  want  to  know  something 
more  about  me,  about  my  affairs, — whether  I  am  in  a 
position  to " 

"Xo,  no,  indeed,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Yernon,  with  ex- 
treme graciousness.  "  I  assure  you  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  on  that  subject." 

"  Then  may  I  hope "  cried  Alwyne,  eagerly ;  but 

Mrs.  Yernon  made  a  little  negative  gesture  which  stopped 
him  in  mid-sentence. 

Mrs.  Yernon  had,  when  she  willed  it,  a  very  charming 
manner,  and  now  she  availed  herself  of  it  to  the  utmost. 

"  I  want  you  to  believe,"  she  said,  almost  caressingly, 
for  his  good  looks  and  eager  manner  were  eminently 
pleasing  to  her, — "I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  should 
like  nothing  better  than  to  accept  you  as  my  daughter's 
husband,  that  all  I  know  and  have  seen  of  you  is  entirely 
satisfactory  to  me,  but  that  there  are  reasons,  which  have 
no  reference  of  any  kind  to  yourself,  which  make  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  consent  to  your  engagement  to  her  at 
present." 

A  momentary  silence ;  then  Alwyne,  looking  at  her 
with  wide-open  eyes,  said, — 

"  You  will  surely,  if  such  is  the  case,  not  object  to  tell- 
ing  me  what  those  reasons  are  ?" 

Mrs.  Yernon  answered,  with  evident  emotion, — 

"  It  is  most  natural  that  you  should  ask ;  under  the 
circumstances,  you  have  every  right  to  ask  ;  and  it  makes 
me  quite  unhappy  to  think  that  it  is  utterly  impossible 
for  me  to  give  you  a  straightforward  answer.  Do."  look- 
ing almost  piteously  at  him,  "  do  try  and  have  faith  in 
me,  and  believe  that  I  would  not  willingly  put  any  obsta- 
cle between  you  and  Dulcie." 


ONCE  AGA1V.  101 

Alwyne's  heart  grew  cold.  He  doubted  Mrs.  Yernon : 
if  there  had  really  been  any  sufficient  obstacle,  Dulcio 
would  not  so  readily  have  accepted  him.  He  spoke  with 
an  air  of  injury. 

"  May  I  ask  if  Miss  Vernon  is  aware  of  the  obstacle 
of  which  you  speak  ?" 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  somewhere,  in  Eng- 
land or  elsewhere,  there  might  be  a  suitor  whom  this 
scheming  mother  considered  more  advantageous  than 
himself,  and  whom  she  had  hopes  of  entrapping. 

Mrs.  Vernon  hesitated,  then,  after  a  pause,  answered, — 

"  She  is  not  altogether  aware  of  it." 

Alwyne's  temper  rose. 

"It  is  not  very  satisfactory/'  he  answered,  "to  be  re- 
fused without  a  reason.  And  I  must  say  I  consider  it 
most  unfair,  not  to  say  humiliating,  to  me.  You  say  you 
have  no  personal  objection  to  me,  and  yet  you  refuse  me. 
I  can  only  imagine  there  must  be  some  other  man  in  the 
case  whom  you  think  more  desirable." 

Mrs.  Vernon  gave  a  faintly-audible  groan.  More  de- 
sirable !  gracious  heavens ! 

"  Indeed  there  is  not,"  she  replied,  with  emphasis. 

"  There  is  no  other  man  in  the  case !"  uttered  Alwyne, 
with  a  keen  glance,  his  suspicions  not  being  entirely  al- 
layed. 

Mrs.  Vernon  objected  to  telling  a  deliberate  lie. 

"  There  are  circumstances,"  she  said,  avoiding  his  gaze, 
"that  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  entertain  your  pro- 
posal now,  but  they  may  be  removed.  If  I  could,  I 
would  gladly  explain  everything  to  you.  Believe  me,  I 
quite  understand  your  vexation,  and  even  your  doubts  of 
me,  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  out  of  my  power,  at  this 
moment,  to  be  more  explicit." 

Alwyne  was  baffled  and  furious.  What  more  was  there 
for  him  to  say  ? 

"  Will  you  allow  me  another  interview  with  your 
daughter?"  he  asked,  and,  to  his  surprise,  Mrs.  Vernon 
answered, — 

"  Certainly.  If  you  will  come  back  in  half  an  hour, 
you  shall  see  her." 

"And  you  will  not  compel  her  inclinations?"  he  in- 
quired, with  a  mistrustful  look. 


102  ONCE  AGAIN. 

11 1  will  not.  I  will  simply  tell  her  the  reason  which  I 
cannot  at  present  tell  you,  and  she  shall  then  give  you 
her  answer." 

Alwyne  took  his  hat  and  went  moodily  away,  full  of 
anger  and  distrust.  Still,  it  would  go  hard  with  him  if  he 
did  not  get  the  truth  out  of  his  darling  ingenuous  Dulcie. 

The  instant  he  left  the  room,  Mrs.  Yernon  went  again 
in  search  of  her  daughter,  and  this  time  successfully. 

Dulcie  was  looking  very  nervous  and  ill  at  ease,  nor  was 
her  mind  reassured  when  she  caught  sight  of  the  angry 
expression  on  her  mother's  face.  Mrs.  Yernon  felt  very 
bitter  against  the  girl,  and  could  not  resist  the  taunt  that 
rose  to  her  lips. 

"  You  have  a  very  constant  heart,  I  must  say,  and  your 
love  must  be  extremely  valuable,  when,  after  eloping  with 
and  marrying  one  man,  you  are  ready  to  receive  the  decla- 
ration of  another  almost  immediately  afterwards !" 

Dulcied  trembled  and  turned  very  white.  Somehow  she 
had  expected  her  mother's  assistance  and  co-operation  in 
this  affair  with  Alwyne. 

"  You  have  placed  me  in  a  delightful  position  in  sending 
Mr.  Temple  to  propose  to  me  for  you." 

"  I  thought "  murmured  Dulcie,  then  suddenly  broke 

down  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Mrs.  Yernon  made  a  supreme  effort  to  control  herself. 
If  she  gave  the  rein  to  the  anger  which  was  boiling  in  her, 
she  was  aware  that  she  would  be  tempted  into  some  im- 
prudence of  speech  and  would  foil  her  own  designs. 

After  a  silence  of  a  minute,  which  it  took  her  to  sup- 
press her  feelings,  she  said,  quietly, — 

"  You  thought  you  were  free  from  the  consequences  of 
your  folly.  I  have  made  inquiries,  and  am  by  no  means 
sure  that  such  is  the  case.  If  Mr.  Trevor  recovers,  it  is 
quite  possible  that  he  may  endeavor  to  prove  the  legality 
of  the  marriage.  At  all  events,  he  may  cause  us  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  and  unpleasantness,  and  you  will  probably 
see  that  to  accept  any  one  else  under  such  circumstances 
is  entirely  out  of  the  question.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  the 
truth  to  Mr.  Temple,  who,  in  his  indignation,  would  prob- 
ably make  the  whole  story  public,  and  it  is  hardly  likely 
that  if  he  knew  it  he  would  wish  to  marry  you.  Still, 
Mr.  Trevor  may  not  recover;  the  story  may  never  be 


ONCE  AGAIN.  103 

known ;  and  then  it  would  be  quite  possible  for  you  to 
marry  Mr.  Temple.  He  is  coming  to  see  you  in  half  an 
hour,  as  he  declines  to  believe  in  an  obstacle  which  I  can- 
not explain  to  him  :  so  I  will  leave  you  to  think  over  what 
you  mean  to  say  to  him.  As  you  have  brought  this  di- 
lemma on  yourself,  you  must  get  out  of  it  as  best  you  can." 

"  Oh,"  sobbed  Dulcie,  in  terror,  "  I  cannot.  I  will  not  see 
him !  Oh,  mamma,  pray  don't  be  so  cruel !  What  can  I 
do  ?  what  can  I  say  ?" 

"Say  anything,  except  that  you  went  out  of  your 
mother's  house  and  were  clandestinely  married  at  a  reg- 
istry office,"  answered  Mrs.  Vernon,  pitilessly.  "  See  him 
you  must  and  shall,  and  you  are  at  liberty  to  tell  him  any 
story  you  please.  I  shall  not  permit  myself  to  be  made  a 
scapegoat  of  by  you." 

She  went  out  and  left  Dulcie  alone,  crushed  by  the  awful 
retribution  that  had  fallen  upon  her.  She  had  never  in 
her  life  acted  or  decided  anything  for  herself:  until  her 
meeting  with  Noel,  her  mother  had  commanded  and  ar- 
ranged, and  she  had  obeyed  with  blind  docility ;  then, 
when  Noel  gained  influence  over  her,  his  will  had  been 
her  law.  Eesponsibility  was  to  her  the  most  terrible 
thing  in  the  world.  She  shrank  shuddering  from  the 
thought  of  meeting  Alwyne  now, — of  having  to  explain 
or  try  to  explain  matters  to  him.  For  what  could  she 
say  ?  She  would  rather  die  than  let  him  know  the  awful 
truth  of  which  she  was  so  bitterly  ashamed.  The  security 
into  which  she  had  been  lulled  of  late  received  a  rude 
shock  from  her  mother's  words.  Noel  might  give  trouble, 
and  might  try  to  prove  the  legality  of  the  marriage !  To 
be  the  wife  of  a  poor  man  no  longer  seemed  an  enviable, 
delightful  lot  in  her  eyes :  she  was  not  aware  that  at 
twenty-one,  or  on  her  marriage  sanctioned  by  the  court, 
she  woulci  come  into  a  comfortable  little  fortune  of  her 
own. 

She  was  half  minded  to  put  <5n  her  hat  and  rush  from 
the  hotel  to  avoid  the  dreaded  interview,  but  the  idea 
occurred  to  her  that  her  mother  would  probably  be  on  the 
watch  against  her  escape,  or  that,  worse  still,  she  might 
run  straight  into  the  arms  of  Alwyne,  who  would  not  be 
far  off.  There  was  only  one  thing  for  it, — to  throw  her- 
self upon  the  mercy  of  her  mother,  who  was  so  strong  and 


104  ONCE  AGAIN. 

so  clever,  and  who  never  had  any  difficulty  ahout  knowing 
what  to  do.  Hastily  she  dried  her  tears,  bathed  her  eyes, 
and  ran  to  the  sitting-room. 

"  Mamma,"  she  cried,  flinging  herself  on  her  knees  be- 
side her  mother,  "  I  implore  you  not  to  be  unkind  to  me. 
Oh,  do — do  tell  me  what  to  say !  I  will  say  anything  you 
wish,  but  I  cannot  think  for  myself." 

Mrs.  Vernon  was  slightly  mollified. 

"  It  is  simple  enough,"  she  said.  "  You  must  say  that 
you  cannot  accept  him  at  present,  and  that  you  cannot 
now  explain  to  him  why,  but  that  you  hope  he  will  re- 
main your  friend.  He  will  of  course  try  every  persuasion 
in  his  power  to  get  the  truth  from  you ;  but  that  I  think 
I  can  rely  on  your  not  telling  him." 

"Mamma,"  pleaded  Dulcie,  "must  I  see  him?  Oh,  dear 
mamma,  will  you  not  see  him  again  instead  ?  Pray,  pray 
do,  and  I  will  never  disobey  you  again !"  In  her  cow- 
ardice she  would  have  promised  anything. 

"  No,  thank  you,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Yernon,  dryly. 
"  I  have  gone  through  one  interview  with  Mr.  Temple,  and 
that  is  enough  for  me.  Besides,  I  promised  that  you 
should  see  him ;  and  you  must." 

Dulcie  sat  on  the  floor,  looking  the  image  of  despair. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  A  waiter  announced 
Mr.  Temple.  Dulcie  sprang  to  her  feet,  blushing  like  a 
carnation,  and  Mrs.  Yernon,  without  a  word,  left  the 
room,  and  the  lovers  together. 

Alwyne's  eyes  flashed  with  pleasure.  He  advanced 
swiftly,  and  with  one  hand  took  Dulcie's  and  put  the 
other  round  her.  But  she  drew  back  frightened.  Good 
heavens!  if  she  were  really  Noel's  wife,  it  would  be  a 
crime  to  receive  such  attentions  from  another  man. 

"  No,  no,"  she  gasped  ;  but  he,  being  strong  and  wilful, 
held  her  with  gentle  force  and  kissed  her  whether  she 
would  or  no. 

"Now,  darling,"  he  cried,  "tell  me  all  about  every- 
thing!" for,  now  that  she  was  here,  within  his  grasp,  he 
made  light  in  his  heart  of  any  obstacle. 

Dulcie  trembled,  and  wished  the  floor  would  open  and 
swallow  her. 

"  No,  really,"  she  expostulated,  "  you  must  not ;  indeed 
you  must  not,  Please  do  not." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  105 

Whereupon  Alwyne  released  her,  thinking  that  modesty 
was  delightful  in  theory,  but  a  confounded  nuisance  in 
practice. 

"  It  is  quite  true  what  mamma  told  you,"  she  faltered. 
"  I  did  not  know  before,  but,  but " 

"  Well,"  said  Alwyne,  "  but  you  at  all  events,  my  dar- 
ling, will  tell  me  why.  I  know,"  tenderly  taking  her 
hand,  "  that  you  are  not  indifferent  to  me :  you  would  not 
willingly  make  me  wretched.  Tell  me,  sweet  love," 
gently,  u  what  can  there  possibly  be  that  you  need  mind 
telling  me.  Don't  yo\i  know  that  I  adore  you?" 

For  all  answer  to  his  entreaty,  Dulcie  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands  and  wept  bitterly. 

For  so  impetuous  and  self-willed  a  young  man,  Alwyne 
behaved  with  great  forbearance.  He  drew  her  hands 
gently  from  her  face,  he  kissed  away  the  tears  that 
streamed  from  her  eyes,  and  was  as  gentle  and  tender  as 
any  woman  could  have  been.  Dulcie  made  no  resistance 
now ;  her  natural  weakness  took  refuge  in  his  strength : 
she  submitted,  and  wished  for  nothing  better  than  to 
shelter  herself  in  this  new  rock  of  defence. 

If  only  there  were  no  awful  reason  to  be  given  I 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

ALWYNE  had  felt  certain  that  the  gentle  and  yielding 
Dulcie  would  not.  be  able  to  keep  the  truth  from  him ;  but 
he  found  it  just  as  impossible  to  get  a  definite  answer  from 
her  as  from  her  mother. 

"  At  least,"  he  cried,  his  patience  presently  wearing  to 
an  end,  "  at  least  tell  me  one  thing.  Is  there  any  other 
man  whom  your  mother  wants  you  to  marry  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Dulcie,  truthfully  enough. 

"  Will  you  swear  that  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

Alwyne  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window  in  high  per- 
plexity.  Several  ideas  passed  rapidly  through  his  mind, 
none  of  which,  however,  seemed  to  him  sufficiently  plausi- 


106  ONCE  AGAIN. 

ble.  A  reason  which  Dulcie  had  not  known  yesterday, 
but  the  force  of  which  she  recognized  the  moment  she 
learned  it  from  her  mother,  and  the  absolute  necessity  for 
secrecy  in  the  matter ! 

There  was  no  other  man  in  the  case !  Then,  with  a 
view  to  allaying  his  latest  suspicion,  he  came  back,  and 
said,  gently,— 

"  Can  you  never  give  me  any  hope  that  you  will  be  my 
wife?" 

Dulcie  hesitated. 

"  I  may,"  she  faltered,  "  if  you  will  only  wait.  Oh,  if 
you  would  only  be  a  little  patient,  all  may  come  right !" 

Was  ever  a  man  placed  in  so  perplexing,  so  maddening 
a  situation !  If  Alwyne  had  not  been  so  much  in  love,  he 
would  have  been  very  angry ;  but  this  unexpected  resist- 
ance and  opposition  increased  his  passion,  and  as  he  looked 
at  the  pretty  tear-stained  face,  that  was  not  disfigured  by 
crying,  as  most  women's  faces  are,  he  felt  that  he  would 
put  up  with  a  great  deal  to  win  her. 

"  It  is  awfulfy  hard  on  me,"  he  said ;  then,  bending  over 
her,  "  Tell  me,  darling,  that  you  really  love  me,  that  you 
will  some  day  be  mine,  and  then  I  will  try  to  be  patient." 

Any  hankering  that  Dulcie  may  have  ever  entertained 
after  a  romantic  situation  must  have  been  gratified  to  the 
full  at  this  moment.  Pleasure  and  fear  were  mingled  in 
exact  proportion, — pleasure  at  the  love  she  inspired,  fear 
at  the  thought  that  she  might  be  committing  a  crime  in 
listening  to  the  avowal  of  it.  Then  she  shuddered  to  re- 
member that  she  was  perhaps  the  wife  of  a  decrepit  in- 
valid,— an  imbecile;  and  she  glanced  up  at  Alwyne's 
straight  figure  and  fine  features  glowing  with  passion. 
Eomantic  situations  are  not  always  delightful  to  the  actors 
who  take  part  in  them. 

Dulcie  did  not  answer  his  entreaty  in  so  many  words, 
but  there  was  nothing  in  her  manner  or  behavior  that 
forbade  him  to  hope. 

"But,"  he  said,  presently,  "what  is  to  happen  now? 
Am  I  not  to  be  allowed  to  see  you  or  write  to  you  ?  How 
long  am  I  to  be  kept  on  tenter-hooks  ?"  And  here  hia 
natural  irritability  came  to  the  front. 

"It  depends  on  mamma,"  answered  Dulcie,  disingenu- 
ously. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  107 

A  brilliant  idea  came  to  Alwyne. 

"  My  darling,"  he  cried,  "  why  should  not  you  and  I 
defy  your  mother  and  go  off  and  get  married  without  her 
knowing  anything  about  it  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Dulcie,  shuddering. 

It  was  a  horrible  coincidence  that  he  too  should  make 
this  proposition. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Vernon  reappeared  on  the 
scene.  The  young  people  had  had  quite  time  enough,  she 
thought,  to  say  all  they  had  to  say,  and  she  felt  the  deep- 
est distrust  of  Dulcie.  Heaven  alone  knew  what  folly 
she  was  capable  of!  It  would  be  necessary,  she  reflected, 
for  her  to  have  a  few  more  words  with  Alwyne,  and,  un- 
pleasant as  it  was,  the  duty  must  not  be  shirked. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said  gently  to  him,  "  you  are  satisfied  that 
my  behavior  is  not  influenced  by  any  mere  arbitrary  feel- 
ing." Then,  as  he  was  stiffly  silent,  she  continued,  "  There 
are  family  reasons  whijh  render  it  imperative  that  I  should 
be  silent  for  a  certain  time.  As  soon  as  I  am  able  to  give 
you  an  explanation,  I  shall  do  so,  if  you  still  desire  it. 
You  must  remember  that  I  have  not  given  you  any  en- 
couragement to  make  advances  to  my  daughter,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  the  moment  I  saw  an  inclination  on  your 
part  for  her  society,  I  did  my  best  to  keep  you  from  being 
alone  with  her." 

Alwyne  preserved  his  hostile  manner. 

"  My  position  is  a  most  unpleasant  one,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  neither  refused  nor  accepted.  I  am  simply  put  off 
with  what  1  must  say  seem  to  me  very  unreasonable  ex- 
cuses. I  love  your  daughter,  and  have  no  intention  of 
giving  her  up  as  long  as  she  cares  for  me.  Am  I  to  be 
allowed  to  see  her,  or  may  I  ask  what  your  intentions  on 
the  subject  are  ?" 

"  If  you  continue  to  see  her,"  answered  Mrs.  Vernon, 
with  determination,  "it  must  be  only  as  any  ordinary 
friend  might.  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  not  permit  you  to 
be  alone  in  her  company  after  to-day.  And,  if  you  will 
take  my  advice,  you  will  leave  Nice  and  will  not  approach 
us  again  until  a  time,  if  it  should  ever  come,  when  we  are 
able  to  welcome  you  as  you  desire." 

Alwyne's  eyes  blazed :  his  temper  was  getting  the 
better  of  him.  He  turned  to  Duloie. 


108  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Do  you  agree  to  this  ?"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  he 
had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  controlling. 

Dulcie  shivered  and  looked  down  on  the  ground. 

"Do  you?"  he  reiterated,  his  voice  getting  still  more 
beyond  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  terrified  at  his  tone,  looking  from  him 
to  her  mother,  and  not  reassured  by  what  she  saw  in 
either  face,  "  we  must  do  what  mamma  thinks  right." 

"  Then  of  course,"  said  Alwyne,  turning  suddenly  from 
fire  to  ice,  "  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  to  say." 

And,  taking  his  hat  and  making  a  gesture  of  stiff 
salutation,  he  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Yernon  reflected  with  some  vindictiveness  that  it 
would  be  an  excellent  punishment  for  Dulcie  to  be  handed 
over  to  a  husband  with  a  temper  like  Alwyne's. 

Then,  whilst  Dulcie  wept  helplessly,  she  sat  down  and 
penned  a  telegram  to  her  lawyer: 

"  What  news  of  invalid  ?" 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  she  received  an  answer : 

"  Still  in  apathetic  state.  Removed  from  hospital  by  friends 
yesterday" 

As  Alwyne  was  rushing  frantically  up  the  hotel  stair- 
case to  his  room,  he  ran  into  his  cousin's  arms. 

"  Halloo !"  said  Jack.     "  Where  are  you  off  to  ?" 

Alwyne  stopped  short. 

"  I  say,"  he  remarked,  with  a  sudden  inspiration,  "  let 
us  go  over  to  Monte  Carlo !  I  want  to  get  out  of  this. 
Do  come,  like  a  good  chap !  I  am  awfully  bothered  and 
worried.  I  believe  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  don't  have  some 
one  to  talk  to." 

Jack  would  have  demurred,  but,  seeing  that  Alwyne 
was  really  upset,  he  good-naturedly  gave  way. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'll  just  go  and  tell  them. 
There's  a  train  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Poor  Jack  was  himself  in  a  bad  way  mentally.  He  was 
hanging  on  here  day  by  day,  and  what  for?  he  asked 
himself  miserably.  He  knew  there  was  no  hope  for  him ; 
the  place  bored  him  to  distraction ;  not  once  had  he  seen 
or  heard  anything  of  Eeine ;  and  yet  he  felt  as  though  ho 
could  not  tear  himself  from  the  spot  until  he  had  at  all 
events  seen  her  once  again.  Mrs.  Pierpoint,  who  was  to 


ONCE  AGAIN.  109 

have  come  over  the  day  after  his  visit  to  Cannes,  had 
caught  cold,  which  confined  her  for  a  couple  of  days  to 
her  room ;  after  that,  she  had  been  occupied  with  moving 
to  her  villa,  so  Jack  had  seen  nothing  of  her.  He  had 
read  Eeine's  poems  over  and  over  again  ;  he  had  possessed 
himself  of  her  other  book,  and  in  turn  his  soul  was  vexed 
and  fascinated  over  the  pages,  and,  he  felt  unsettled  and 
miserable,  as  he  had  never  in  his  life  felt  before,  not  even 
under  the  influence  of  the  passion  from  which  he  had 
manfully  torn  himself  free.  He  was  quite  in  a  condition 
to  sympathize  with  Alwyne,  and  as  they  had  the  railway- 
carriage  to  themselves  during  the  short  journey,  he 
listened  with  the  greatest  interest  to  Alwyne's  tirade  of 
love,  disappointment,  invective. 

What  did  it — what  could  it  mean  ?  Alwyne  cried,  over 
and  over  again.  Was  ever  a  man  in  this  world  placed  in 
such  a  position  ?  It  was  enough  to  drive  him  to  despera- 
tion, to  madness!  Jack  admitted  all  this.  The  only  com- 
fort he  could  suggest  was  that  there  was  no  other  man  in 
the  case. 

"  But  how  can  we  tell  ?"  cried  Alwyne.  "  That  woman !" 
loading  his  desired  mother-in-law  with  opprobrious  epi- 
thets, "  is  capable  of  telling  any  lie, — a  blanked  intriguing 
old  cat !  And  that  dear  little  innocent  thing  is  so  shy,  so 
sensitive,  and  so  easily  frightened ;  she  is  under  her 
mother's  thumb  to  such  a  degree  that  she  could  terrify 
her  into  swearing  anything.  Why,  if  /,"  and  Alwyne 
dwelt  with  conscious  pride  on  the  I,  "  could  not  get  any: 
thing  out  of  her,  you  may  take  your  oath  how  crushed  she 
is !  My  belief  is  that  there  is  another  man — some  fellow 
with  a  title  or  something  or  other — she  thinks  there's  a 
chance  of  getting  hold  of.  Perhaps" — lashing  himself  into 
a  rage — "  he's  coming  out  here,  and  then,  if  he  don't  pro- 
pose, she  may  fall  back  upon  me.  Why,  man  alive,  what 
other  reason  can  there  be?" 

Jack  was  unable  to  suggest  any. 

"  It  is  very  mysterious,  certainly,"  he  said,  "  and  mys- 
teries are  exceedingly  disagreeable;  but  then,"  and  his  own 
heart  sank  as  he  said  it,  "you  see,  it  isn't  as  if  you  were 
utterly  without  hope." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  be  at !"  cried  Alwyne.  "  This 
sort  of  thing  plays  the  devil  with  one.  To  go  on  seeing 

10 


110  ONCE  AGAIN. 

the  girl  day  after  day,  and  never  to  get  a  chance  of  being 
alone  with  her,  will  drive  me  mad.  And  yet  I  feel  as  if  I 
can't  tear  myself  away." 

How  well  poor  Jack  could  sympathize  with  him ! 

"  And  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  ever  wanted  to  marry!" 
Alwyne  went  on,  desperately.  "  Why,  this  time  last  week 
I'd  have  laid  you  a  thousand  to  ten  against  the  possibility 
of  such  a  thing  happening.  You  know,  Jack,  how  1 
loathed  the  idea." 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Jack,  "  that  if  one  likes  a  woman  in 
the  right  sort  of  way,  and  she  is  free,  marrying  her  is  the 
thing  one  does  think  of." 

The  train  pulled  up.  The  young  men  jumped  out.  A 
moment  later  Jack's  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  and  his  face 
was  aflame,  for  there,  in  the  act  of  alighting  from  a  rail- 
way-carriage, was  Mrs.  Chandos. 

He  rushed  eagerly  forward  to  her  assistance.  To  his 
delight,  she  was  only  accompanied  by  another  lady,  to 
whom  she  at  once  introduced  him.  Alwyne  was  already 
acquainted  with  her  friend. 

Mrs.  Chandos  greeted  Jack  so  kindly  that  a  wild  happi- 
ness took  possession  of  him.  He  would  think,  she  said, 
smiling,  that  she  lived  at  Monte  Carlo;  but,  in  reality, 
this  was  only  her  second  visit  this  season,  and  she  was 
only  here  now  because  it  was  such  a  lovely  day,  and  Mrs. 
Herbert  had  insisted  on  coming. 

Mrs.  Herbert  joined  in  the  conversation. 

"  I  felt  the  want  of  a  little  excitement,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  have  brought  a  few  louis  to  gamble  with.  Keine  is 
shocked :  she  never  gambles :  she  will  sit  on  the  terrace 
and  look  at  the  view  whilst  I  lose  my  money." 

Mrs.  Herbert  was  a  tall,  fair,  delicate-looking  woman, 
with  a  distinguished  air  and  a  pleasant  voice,  apparently 
gome  ten  years  older  than  Eeine. 

"Mrs.  Herbert,"  said  Alwyne,  addressing  himself  to  her, 
"  I  am  sure  you  have  not  breakfasted.  Will  you  and  Mrs. 
Chandos  do  us  the  honor  of  breakfasting  with  us  first  ?  and 
then  we  will  go  and  enjoy  a  gamble.  I  also  have  brought, 
a  little  money  to  dispose  of." 

"  I  am  dying  of  hunger,"  she  answered,  pleasantly,  "  and 
it  would  be  very  nice  to  have  a  table  together." 

By  which  she  intended  to  convey  to  him  that,  though 


ONCE  AGAIN.  HI 

she  and  her  friend  would  lunch  in  their  company,  she  did 
not  intend  to  be  their  guests. 

Alwyne  called  a  carriage,  put  the  ladies  into  it,  and  he 
and  Jack  walked  up  through  the  grounds  and  arrived  in 
time  to  receive  them  at  the  hotel. 

"  This  is  great  luck !"  exclaimed  Alwyne  to  his  cousin. 
"  I  shall  see  whether  I  can't  get  something  out  of  Mrs. 
Chandos.  You,  Jack,  like  a  good  fellow,  take  Mrs.  Her- 
bert off:  you  will  find  her  an  awfully  nice  woman." 

Jack's  face  fell  about  two  inches.  This  was  indeed  a 
severe  test  of  friendship.  To  take  off  the  nicest  woman  in 
the  world  and  to  leave  Eeine  to  another  man  seemed  an 
unbearable  hardship.  Alwyne,  engrossed  though  he  was 
with  himself,  could  not  fail  to  remark  the  deep  chagrin 
written  on  every  line  of  Jack's  countenance. 

"I  say,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "you  must  really  remember 
how  immensely  important  this  is  to  me, — almost  a  matter 
of  life  and  death,  you  know.  I  promise  you  shall  have 
your  chance  afterwards:  only  let  me  get  Mrs.  Chandos 
alone  for  half  an  hour." 

Nothing  could  have  been  cheerier  than  this  little  party 
of  four.  Mrs.  Herbert  and  Eeine  had  the  pleasing  effect 
of  bringing  out  each  other's  liveliest  and  brightest  quali- 
ties in  public.  Many  women  can  only  be  gay  and  viva- 
cious at  the  expense  of  making  a  noise  and  attracting  at- 
tention, but  these  two  were  brilliant  examples  of  how 
bright  and  pleasant  ladies  may  be  in  an  entirely  undemon- 
strative fashion.  Mrs.  Herbert  at  once  took  a  great  fancy 
to  Jack,  whose  frank  manner  and  kindly  face  impressed 
her  agreeably,  and  it  was  not  five  minutes  before  she  was 
perfectly  aware  of  what  he  imagined  to  be  a  secret  tightly 
locked  in  his  own  breast.  She  resolved  to  help  him,  for, 
although  she  was  herself  a  widow  devoutly  thankful  for 
her  freedom  and  keenly  alive  to  its  advantages,  she  had, 
as  Keine  said,  an  absurd  notion  that  every  other  woman 
would  be  the  better  for  having  a  husband. 

If  Jack  had  been  able  to  think  of  anything  or  any  one 
but  Eeine,  he  would  doubtless  have  at  once  reciprocated 
her  good  feeling ;  but  during  luncheon  he  could  scarcely 
take  his  eyes  from  Mrs.  Chandos,  and  Alwyne,  remember- 
ing that  he  was  going  to  carry  off  the  apple  of  his  cousin's 
eye  presently,  devoted  himself  to  Mrs.  Herbert.  And, 


112  ONCE  AGAIN. 

truth  to  tell,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  eagerness  to  elicit 
something  bearing  on  his  own  affairs  frem  Reine,  he  would 
have  preferred  the  society  of  the  other  lady.  She  was 
always  such  good  company  and  so  pleasant :  she  never  did 
or  said  anything  to  wound  the  amour-propre  of  any  man, 
unless  he  ventured  on  a  liberty  of  speech,  and  that  was  a 
very  rare  event. 

It  was  with  great  reluctance,  although  his  good  breed- 
ing prevented  him  from  giving  evidence  of  it,  that  when, 
after  luncheon,  they  adjourned  to  the  Casino,  Jack  fell  be- 
hind with  Mrs.  Herbert  as  Alwyne  led  the  way  with  her 
friend.  But  ere  long  he  was  tolerably  reconciled  to  his 
fate,  for  his  companion  adroitly  broached  the  subject  that 
was  so  near  his  heart,  and  then,  professing  surprise  at  his 
knowing  so  little  of  Cannes,  raised  him  to  a  seventh  heaven 
by  proposing  that  she  and  Mrs.  Chandos  should  make  him 
better  acquainted  with  it. 

Meantime,  Alwyne  had  conducted  his  companion  to  a 
sheltered  spot  in  the  gardens,  and  was  proceeding  to  con- 
fide in  her.  For  he  had  not  the  gift  of  reticence,  and,  if 
a  thing  engrossed  his  thoughts,  insisted  on  talking  of  it 
ad  nauseam  to  any  one  to  whom  he  chose  for  the  moment 
to  unbosom  himself. 

Eeine  listened  with  no  little  surprise.  She  did  not  per- 
mit the  feeling  to  show  itself  in  her  face  or  manner :  these 
were  both  sympathetic  and  interested  as  she  gave  ear  to 
the  outburst  of  Alwyne's  passion,  perplexity,  and  despair. 
But  she  wondered  secretly  how  her  aunt  could  for  a  mo- 
ment have  permitted  him  to  hope  under  the  circumstances, 
— have  allowed  him  to  approach  Dulcie  with  words  of 
love  whilst  she  was  another  man's  wife.  It  then  occurred 
to  her  that  Mrs.  Yernon  might  possibly  have  had  tidings 
of  the  husband's  death,  either  actual  or  imminent:  indeed, 
that  was  the  only  way  in  which  she  could  reconcile  to  her- 
self her  aunt's  conduct  in  the  matter.  Even  then  she 
could  not  thoroughly  approve. 

It  was  evident  that  Alwyne  hoped  to  extract  some  clew 
to  the  secret  from  her,  but,  whilst  listening  with  every 
mark  of  sympathy  to  his  recital,  she  disclaimed  all  knowl- 
edge of  her  aunt's  reasons  and  objections,  and  confined 
herself  entirely  to  speaking  in  kind  and  affectionate  terms 
of  Dulcie.  Alwyne,  baffled  in  the  most  important  par- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  113 

ticular,  still  derived  no  little  comfort  and  pleasure  from 
talking  about  the  object  of  his  affections.  He  went  so  far 
as  to  implore  Mrs.  Chandos's  good  offices  in  his  behalf, 
She  asked  him,  smiling,  why  he  should  want  any  assist- 
ance when  he  had  so  much  to  recommend  him?  He  was 
so  much  pleasanter  in  the  humble  phase  of  non-accepted 
suitor  than  she  had  ever  before  seen  him,  that  Reine  was 
inclined  to  revoke  her  previous  judgment  of  him.  And 
Alwyne,  who  had  up  to  this  time  been  rather  spiteful  and 
ill  disposed  towards  her,  vowed  that  she  was  really  a 
charming  woman,  and,  having  talked  to  her  about  himself 
unweariedly  for  the  space  of  an  hour,  began  to  reflect  that 
perhaps  he  ought  to  let  Jack  have  a  turn,  and  assented  to 
his  companion's  proposal  that  they  should  go  and  look  for 
the  other  members  of  the  party. 

Mrs.  Herbert  and  Jack  were  still  at  the  tables.  They 
had  been  playing  with  varying  success,  and  were  now  a 
little  to  the  good.  Alwyne  made  his  venture,  won ;  staked 
again,  won ;  again,  won ;  again,  lost ;  doubled  his  stake, 
and  ended  by  losing. 

The  ladies  expressed  a  wish  to  go  to  the  concert-room, 
and  thither  they  repaired,  Alwyne  now  devoting  himself 
to  Mrs.  Herbert.  A  strange  shyness  had  come  over  Jack, 
— an  unjust  sen«e  of  self-depreciation.  He  felt  that  Eeine 
must  think  him  a  fool  and  be  bored  by  him.  But  that 
lady  was  in  an  excellent  humor,  and  talked  gayly  to  him 
in  the  intervals  between  the  music,  and  his  diffidence  gave 
way  to  a  feeling  of  supreme  happiness.  His  tongue  was 
unloosed;  he  was  no  longer  shy  and  silent;  the'world's 
face  seemed  to  have  changed  when  they  emerged  into  the 
sunshine :  if  this  was  not  Paradise,  he  wanted  no  fairer 
one. 

When,  in  the  train,  Mrs.  Herbert  invited  the  young  men 
to  lunch  with  them  next  day,  Reine  cordially  seconded  tho 
invitation.  Jack  accepted  joyfully,  Alwyne  with  reserve. 
He  was  not  sure  in  his  own  heart  that  he  could  tear  him- 
self aw^ay  from  Dulcie.  For,  so  far  from  having  any  in- 
tention of  leaving  Nice,  he  had  resolved  that  he  would 
stay  near  his  beloved  and  see  her  and  fair  play  at  the 
same  time. 

At  dinner  that  evening  he  sat  opposite  Dulcie,  and  his 
eyes  were  so  full  of  expressive  fire,  and  his  glances  at  her 
h  10* 


114  ONCE  AGAIN. 

pretty  face  so  long  and  ardent,  that  Mrs.  Yernon,  who  sat 
on  thorns  lest  his  very  marked  conduct  should  excite  at- 
tention, took  a  sudden  resolve.  As  they  left  the  dining- 
room,  Mrs.  Chester  joined  her,  and  Alwyne  was  enabled  to 
approach  Dulcie ;  but,  by  a  sudden  turn  of  the  head,  the 
distracted  mother  saw  him  put  a  note  into  her  hand.  The 
moment  Mrs.  Yernon  reached  their  sitting-room,  having 
declined  Mrs.  Chester's  pressing  invitation  to  join  their 
party  both  for  herself  and  Dulcie,  she  turned  to  her  daugh- 
ter and  said,  in  a  tone  that  frightened  the  girl, — 

"  Eead  Mr.  Temple's  letter  at  once !" 

Dulcie  demurred,  but  Mrs.  Yernon  insisted,  almost  with 
violence,  and  Dulcie  gave  in  and  read  it  tremblingly. 

Her  mother  watched  her  sternly. 

"  It  is,  I  presume,  a  love-letter.  !N"o,  do  not  be  afraid," 
as  Dulcie  instinctively  put  it  behind  her  back.  "  I  have  no 
wish  to  see  it.  I  have  only  this  to  say  to  you.  Mr. 
Trevor  is  alive  and  likely  to  live,  and  he  is  your  husband." 

Then,  whilst  Dulcie,  white  as  death,  sank  half  fainting 
on  the  sofa,  Mrs.  Yernon  passionately  seized  her  desk,  and 
wrote  on  a  sheet  of  paper, — 

"  Either  you,  or  I  and  my  daughter,  leave  Nice  to-mor- 
row. If  I  find  in  the  morning  that  you  are  still  here,  we 
go  by  the  afternoon  train." 

She  directed  it  to  "  Alwyne  Temple,  Esq.,"  and  ringing 
the  bell,  gave  it  to  the  waiter  to  be  delivered  at  once. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

MRS.  HERBERT  and  Eeine  had  dined,  and  were  drinking 
coffee  in  the  pretty  salon  of  their  villa.  Mrs.  Herbert  was 
lying  on  a  couch  drawn  towards  the  cheerful  wood  fire, 
and  Eeine  sat  half  buried  in  a  big  chair,  with  her  feet  re- 
posing on  a  footstool  and  warming  at  the  blaze.  She 
seemed  engrossed  with  her  thoughts,  as  indeed  she  was. 
A  strong  sense  of  honor  was  one  of  her  chief  attributes, 
and  she  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  her  aunt,  for 
whom  she  had  a  certain  respect  and  esteem,  could  have 


ONCE  AGAIN.  115 

acted  towards  Alwyne  Temple  in  so  disingenuous  a  man- 
ner.    Mrs.  Herbert's  voice  broke  in  upon  her  reflections. 

"  My  love,"  it  said,  "  what  is  your  busy  brain  cogitating 
BO  deeply  about  ?" 

Eeine  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"  It  is  quite  at  your  service,  if  you  have  any  ideas  to 
suggest  to  it." 

"Only  quite  trivial  ones,"  replied  her  friend.     "  I  think 
we  had  a  very  pleasant  day,  and  I  found  our  cavaliers  most 
agreeable," 
1  "  Yes,"  assented  Eeine,  but  without  much  enthusiasm. 

"Mr.  Temple  is  remarkably  handsome,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Herbert,  "  but  I  prefer  his  cousin.  He  looks  so  kind  and 
good-tempered." 

"Alwyne  Temple  has  improved,  I  think,"  observed 
Eeine.  *"  I  never  liked  him  so  well  as  to-day.  He  was 
much  less  self-assertive  than  usual." 

"  By  the  way,  what  were  you  and  he  so  engrossed  in, 
and  where  did  you  disappear  to  ?" 

Mrs.  Chandos  had  few  secrets  from  her  friend,  with 
whom  she  lived  on  terms  of  affectionate  intimacy,  so  she 
did  not  hesitate  to  tell  her  about  Alwyne's  attraction  to 
her  cousin,  though  she  gave  no  hint  of  Dulcie's  secret. 

"  Between  ourselves,  strictly  between  ourselves,  Mia, 
he  has  fallen  in  love  with  my  pretty  cousin,  and,  as  he  is 
a  young  gentleman  of  an  impetuous  disposition,  he  is 
dreadfully  perturbed  because  he  is  not  received  by  my 
aunt  with  open  arms." 

"But,  my  love,  he  has  lots  of  money,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Herbert.  "  Why  is  he  not  received  with  open  arms  ?" 

"  Eeally,  Mia,"  returned  Eeine,  with  a  shade  of  im- 
patience, "you  are  just  like  every  other  woman.  If  a 
man  has  money,  there  is  no  consideration  of  any  possible 
sort  or  kind  of  sufficient  importance  to  stand  in  his  way." 

"  After  all,"  smiled  Mrs.  Herbert,  with  an  apologetic 
little  air,  "you  know,  poetess  though  you  are,  that  that 
is  a  very  big  consideration.  Comfort  and  luxury  are  by 
no  means  words  of  empty  sound  in  your  ears,  my  love." 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  everything  is  easier  to  be  endured  by 
means  of  money,"  returned  Eeine  ;  "  but  do  you  think,  if  I 
were  given  the  choice  of  happiness  or  money,  I  should 
hesitate?" 


116  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  happiness,"  replied  Mrs. 
Herbert,  didactically :  "  as  the  old  conundrum  says,  the 
only  place  where  it  is  always  to  be  found  is  in  the  diction- 
ary. Our  life  is  made  up  of  toleration,  endurance,  with 
occasional  flashes  of  hope  and  pleasure  and  frequent  long 
periods  of  suffering  and  misery.  Physical  comfort  makes 
toleration  easier  than  anything  else  ;  money  gives  physi- 
cal comfort.  But,  after  all,  why  is  this  rich  and  hand- 
some young  man  not  received  with  open  arms  ?  Is  your 
aunt  ambitious?  is  she  bent  on  a  title?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her,"  replied  Reine,  "  since  the  day 
when  she  and  Dulcie  first  made  his  acquaintance.  You 
remember,  Mia,  I  told  you  of  the  meeting." 

"  But  is  he  refused  for  good  and  all?" 

"  He  was  evidently  not  accepted.  And  nothing  in  the 
world  could  be  so  calculated  to  increase  his  devotion  as  a 
little  opposition." 

"  Is  that  why  it  is  done,  do  you  think  ?" 

"I  must  hear  what  my  aunt  says,"  returned  Reine, 
evasively.  "  I  think  of  going  over  to  Nice  again  before 
the  end  of  the  week." 

"  Not  to  stay !"  exclaimed  her  friend.  "  I  really  won't 
have  you  go  away  again  to  stay !  I  am  wretched  without 
you,  and  your  aunt  cannot  want  you  half  as  much  as  I 
do." 

"  No,  only  for  the  day,"  said  Reine. 

Mrs.  Herbert  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  That  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "  Reine,  my  dear,  do  you 
know  I  think  Sir  John  Chester  has  fallen  in  love  with 
you?" 

"Do  you?"  observed  Reine,  indifferently.  "You  gene- 
rally think  that  of  every  man." 

"  I  may  be  forgiven  if  I  do,  since  it  not  unfrequently 
happens.  But  I  approve  of  Sir  John  much  more  than  of 
most  of  your  suitors." 

"Have  you  ascertained,  Mia,"  asked  her  friend,  with 
slightly-veiled  sarcasm,  "  that  he  has  money  enough  to 
insure  toleration  of  life — and  of  himself?" 

"How  dare  you  speak  in  that  tone  to  me?"  laughed 
Mrs.  Herbert.  "  You  know  it  is  quite  impossible  for  you 
to  crush  me  as  you  do  impertinent  acquaintances  who  take 
liberties." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  117 

"You  are  too  frail  to  be  crushed,"  answered  Kerne,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Thanks  for  your  magnanimity.  But  now  what  do  you 
think  of  him  yourself?" 

"  I  have  not  thought  much  about  him  at  present,"  said 
Heine.  "  But  to  please  you" — assuming  an  air  of  reflec- 
tion— "  I  will.  I  think" — pausing  and  appearing  to  delib- 
erate— "  he  looks  very  English,  very  clean,  very  good-tem- 
pered. He  has  beautiful  teeth.  And — ah,  yes,  by  the 
way,  he  behaves  charmingly  to  his  mother  and  to  that 
poor  little  invalid  sister.  Yes,  Mia,  I  think  he  is  an  ex- 
cellent type  of  a  young  English  sportsman.  I  feel  sure  he 
is  a  straight  rider  and  a  good  shot,  and  I  dare  say  plays 
cricket  and  lawn-tennis  and  is  good  all  round  at  country 
pursuits." 

Mrs.  Herbert  surveyed  her  friend  critically. 

"How  heartless  you  are!"  she  said. 

"  I  wish  I  were !"  returned  Keine,  with  a  profound  sigh. 

"  Take  courage :  you  will  be  in  time,"  smiled  Mrs.  Her- 
bert, changing  her  tone  to  a  light  one,  "  and  when  that 
time  comes  you  will  arrive  at  the  nearest  approach  pos- 
sible to  happiness.  I,  thank  heaven,  have  worn  my  heart 
out.  It  used  to  give  me  an  immense  deal  of  trouble.  For 
twenty  years — from  fifteen  to  thirty -five — it  was  the  curse 
of  my  life.  I  was  always  loving,  or  wanting  to  love,  and, 
when  I  did,  consuming  and  fretting  myself  to  a  shadow 
about  the  object  or  fancied  object  of  my  affection.  Now," 
gayly,  "my  heart  has  completely  frittered  keeif  i*  vay.  I 
could  not  love  if  Jupiter  himself  put  on  his  most  seductive 
shape  to  fascinate  me.  No  human  being  is  necessary  to 
my  existence ;  there  is  no  one  whom  I  could  not  do  with- 
out, except,"  laughing,  "  you,  my  love,  whilst  I  am  here. 
The  real  compensation  of  growing  old  is,  as  far  as  my  ex- 
perience goes,  the  fading  of  those  turbulent  emotions  that 
were  the  joy  and  the  despair  of  one's  youth.  I  am  not 
easily  disappointed,  because  I  expect  nothing;  pleasure- 
seeking  has  become  an  intolerable  bore  to  me  ;  the  society 
of  a  few  people  I  like,  fresh  air,  beautiful  scenery,  are  the 
only  things  I  care  for,  and,  if  I  had  but  a  digestion  and  an 
appetite  worth  dignifying  by  the  name  and  could  enjoy 
the  pleasures  of  the  table,  I  should  look  upon  old  age  as 
an  unmitigated  boon." 


118  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  How  you  talk,  Mia !"  interrupted  Eeine.  "  Any  ono 
would  think  you  were  seventy." 

"  I  am  a  hundred  and  seventy,'*  replied  Mrs.  Herbert, 
"  and  I  watch  the  passions  and  griefs  and  loves  of  you 
young  people  from  afar,  with  a  sort  of  amused  wonder 
that  you  can  attach  so  much  importance  to  them,  and 
with  total  oblivion  of  the  fact  that  I  was  ever  a  victim  to 
the  same  passions  myself.  It  is  a  never-ending  marvel  to 
me  that  years  can  so  entirely  change  our  views  on  almost 
every  subject :  the  change,  they  tell  us.  that  is  worked  in 
our  constitutions  is  as  nothing  to  it.  Fifteen  years  ago  I 
was  excitable,  jealous,  exacting,  ambitious,  with  the  most 
pronounced  ideas  on  almost  every  subject;  now  I  am  calm, 
tolerant,  indifferent,  unprejudiced,  and  absolutely  heedless 
of  social  advancement.  I  can  see  that  there  are  two  sides 
to  every  question,  and  so  much  to  be  said  on  both  that  it  is 
easier  to  let  the  whole  matter  slide  than  to  attempt  to  ar- 
rive at  an  absolute  conclusion  about  it.  I  used  to  rebel 
against  what  I  thought  the  injustice  and  cruelty  of  life ; 
I  insisted  on  prying  into  the  motives  and  reasons  of  things, 
and  was  deeply  indignant  because  satisfactory  answers 
were  not  presented  to  my  intelligence.  I  now  take  refuge 
in  the  doctrine  of  the  Unknowable,  and  have  left  off  ask- 
ing questions.  No  one  can  explain  to  me  the  great 
enigma  of  life  and  suffering.  I  listen  to  the  various  argu- 
ments with  which  people  who  think  they  know  attempt 
from  time  to  time  to  convince  me.  I  never  contradict 
them ;  I  smile  and  let  them  imagine  they  have  produced 
their  effect,  but  each  successive  argument  makes  me  more 
certain  that  the  mystery  is  unknown  and  unknowable.  I 
no  longer  beat  my  wings  against  the  bars  of  my  cage :  I 
doze  on  my  perch  and  hail  the  end  with  tolerable  com- 
posure. I  have  even  given  up  asking,  except  once  now 
and  then  when  I  am  more  ill  or  suffering  than  usual, 
*  What  is  the  good  of  anything?'  If  good  there  is,  we 
shall  know  it  some  day ;  if  we  are  only  puppets  of  blind 
force,  why,  then  we  shall  have  fulfilled  our  purpose,  and 
the  end  will  have  come,  and  there  will  be  no  more  need 
for  asking  questions." 

Eeine  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  with  signs  of  strong 
emotion  in  her  expressive  face. 

"  Ah,  Mia,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  all  very  well  for  you 


ONCE  AGAIN.  119 

to  talk ;  you  are  fortunate  to  have  arrived  at  such  a  con- 
tented frame  of  mind ;  but  what  about  those  who  do 
rebel,  who  cannot  help  rebelling,  because  they  feel  that 
they  have  been  deluded  and  cheated?  that  high  ideas, 
thoughts,  aspirations,  have  been  given  them  which  they 
can  never  realize  ?  that  they  are  mocked  and  disappointed 
through  the  very  instinct  which  seemed  highest  and 
purest  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,"  replied  Mrs.  Herbert,  "  it  is  a  great 
pity  that  you  ever  met  Henry  Bertram." 

"  The  best  friend  I  ever  had  or  ever  shall  have,"  inter- 
rupted Eeine,  warmly. 

"The  worst  as  a  l philosopher  and  guide.'  His  effect 
on  you  morally  was  as  that  of  a  bon  vivant,  who  gives  the 
prescription  that  has  cured  his  gout  to  a  poor  man  who 
is  starving  for  want  of  generous  food.  It  would  have 
been  far  better  for  you,  my  love,  though  you  won't  agree 
with  me,  if  when  you  were  suffering  from  disappointment 
and  heart-soreness  you  had  come  across  a  priest  or  a  re- 
ligious enthusiast,  who  could  have  given  you  something 
to  prop  up  your  faltering  faith,  instead  of  taking  away 
what  slender  support  was  still  left  and  leaving  you  to  fall 
prone  to  earth." 

"  It  is  far  better  to  know  and  face  the  truth,"  cried 
Eeine,  impetuously. 

"But  what  is  truth?"  asked  Mrs.  Herbert.  "To  my 
way  of  thinking,  utter  sceptics  like  our  friend  are  further 
from  it  than  any  one  else.  Henry  is  a  man,  strong  men- 
tally and  physically ;  he  is  perpetually  occupied ;  his  diges- 
tion is  excellent;  he  is  devoid  of  sentiment,  therefore  his 
unbelief  causes  him  no  inconvenience  of  any  kind.  He 
has  no  mental  weakness,  so  a  personal  God  is  unnecessary 
to  him ;  he  has  healthy,  honorable  instincts  which  guide 
his  life  correctly  and  enable  him  to  be  quite  comfortable 
without  religion.  He  thought  he  was  doing  you  a  great 
kindness  when,  seeing  your  mind  rent  with  doubt,  trouble, 
and  disquietude,  he  tried  to  tear  up  what  he  considered  a 
miserable  superstition  from  before  your  stumbling  feet. 
It  was  like  a  strong  man  taking  the  crutches  from  a  crip- 
ple and  saying, '  See  how  well  I  walk.  Throw  away  those 
wretched  devices,  which  are  really  of  no  use  to  you,  and 
walk  erect  and  straight  as  I  do.' " 


120  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"But,  Mia,  you  know  that  you  believe  in  very  little 
yourself." 

"  I  do  not  admit  that,"  returned  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  do  not  know  how  much  or  how  little  I 
believe.  I  find  it  best  not  to  continue  interrogating  my- 
self on  the  subject.  If  I  am  content  to  bow  to  the  un- 
alterable power  which  I  acknowledge,  and  to  accept  des- 
tiny without  questioning,  it  seems  to  me  as  though  I  may 
perhaps  be  demonstrating  the  highest  form  of  faith.  But, 
my  love,  when,  in  autumn,  the  creepers  that  twine  them- 
selves round  a  tree  gradually  and  naturally  unloose  their 
clinging  arms  and  drop  to  earth,  it  is  very  different  from 
those  whose  strong  tendrils  are  torn  violently  away  in 
their  full  flowering-time.  You  want  a  counteracting  influ- 
ence. You  are  young, — well,"  as  Heine  shook  her  head, 
"  let  us  say  comparatively  young,  for,  though  six-and- 
twenty  seemed  very  old  to  me  when  I  was  seventeen,  I 
now  look  upon  it  as  the  most  charming  and  fascinating 
period  of  a  woman's  life.  From  twenty-five  to  thirty-five 
a  woman  ought  to  rule  every  one  she  chooses  to  rule, — 
that  is,  a  woman  who  is  clever  and  charming, — a  woman 
like  you,  Heine.  Do  you  know  that  the  best  part  of  your 
life  is  before  you  ?  Do  you  know  that  if  you  were  to  love 
now,  to  love  a  good,  kind,  honorable  man, — we  won't  say 
anything  about  his  being  very  clever, — you  might  still  be 
a  happy  woman,  and  win  back  your  old  beliefs,  or,  at  all 
events,  the  best  part  of  them  ?" 

And  Mrs.  Herbert's  gray  eyes  grew  quite  eager  in  their 
expression,  and  she  looked  affectionately  at  Eeine. 

"  Love  and  I  are  strangers,"  answered  Heine,  with  a 
sigh,  sinking  back  in  her  chair.  "  I  could  not  love  now, 
because  I  could  not  believe.  Perhaps,  dear  Mia,  I  shall 
get  to  your  contented  frame  of  mind  some  day,  and  think 
ihe  greatest  blessing  is  to  feel  that  no  one  is  necessary  to 
my  existence." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  I  did  not  feel  that  at  your  age, 
and  I  do  not  think  any  one  gets  to  feel  it  till  he  has  suf- 
fered great  unhappiness  and  disappointment.  The  great- 
est source  of  your  unhappiness  now  is  your  imagination : 
you  live  in  a  world  of  your  own,  and  you  want  to  idealize 
every  one  with  whom  you  come  in  contact.  Your  inclina- 
tion is  to  believe  everything  that  glitters  to  be  gold,  and 


ONCE  AGAIN.  121 

you  take  it  as  a  personal  injury  that  when  the  test  acid 
of  experience  is  applied  it  corrodes.  You  shut  your  eyes 
and  idealize,  and  when  you  open  them  and  look  at  reality 
it  seems  coarse  and  brutal.  If  you  were  less  critical  and 
more  disposed  to  give  the  rein  to  your  natural  warmth  of 
heart  and  affection,  you  would  be  a  much  happier  woman. 
It  is  of  no  use  at  your  age  and  with  your  nature  to  try  to 
starve  your  heart.  Find  some  man  who  is  honorable,  to 
be  trusted,  and  devoted  to  you,  and  don't  insist  on  ideal- 
izing him  and  expecting  all  sorts  of  impossible  things  of 
him,  but  be  content  to  love  him,  and,  if  you  must  weigh 
his  demerits  occasionally,  put  his  good  qualities  in  the  other 
scale,  and  balance  the  two  fairly.  Women  of  your  sort 
were  not  meant  to  live  alone :  sympathy  and  companion- 
ship are  absolute  necessities.  Why,  even  I,  in  spite  of  all 
I  say,"  with  a  sad  little  smile,  "  feel  at  times  that  to  have 
some  one  to  whom  I  was  necessary,  whose  life  was  bound 
up  in  mine,  would  be  a  blessing  worth  paying  a  tolerably 
severe  penalty  for.  But  I  do  not  allow  myself  to  dwell 
on  the  idea,  and  immediately  proceed  to  thank  heaven 
that  Fortune  has  no  hostages  of  mine,  and  to  tell  myself 
that  to  care  for  any  one  or  anything  is  to  widen  the  joints 
of  one's  armor  and  let  the  shafts  of  misfortune  enter  and 
pierce  one.  You  see,  my  love,  the  great  difference  between 
us  is  that  I  am  resigned  to  my  lot,  and  probably  could  not 
alter  it  if  I  wished,  whereas  you  are  not  resigned,  and 
your  fate  is,  humanly  speaking,  in  your  own  hands." 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born !"  said  Eeine,  in  a  tone 
of  the  deepest  despondency. 

"  That  is  what  I  have  wished  all  my  life,"  replied  Mrs. 
Herbert.  "  I  could  never  understand  the  intense  love  of 
life  which  some  people  have  who  think  '  only  to  live'  such 
a  tremendous  boon.  Of  course  there  have  been  times  when 
I  have  been  exhilarated  by  air  and  sunshine  and  the  pres- 
ence of  those  I  loved  into  being  momentarily  glad  of  life ; 
but  the  feeling  has  been  transitory.  I  dislike  the  idea  of 
dying,  because  of  the  mystery  and  doubt,  the  fears,  mental 
and  physical,  that  surround  the  act  of  dying ;  but  to  be 
dead  always  seems  desirable  to  me,  and  infinitely  more 
desirable,  as  the  Preacher  said,  it  is  never  to  have  been 
born  at  all.  There  is  only  one  thing  that  could  reconcile 
me  to  life,  and  that  would  be  the  knowledge  that  I  had 

F  11 


122  NCE  AGAIN. 

been  of  use  in  my  generation ;  that  I  had  made  others  the 
better  for  me  ;  that  I  had  prevented  a  great  deal  of  suffer- 
ing and  caused  a  great  deal  of  happiness.  I,  like  every 
one  else,  love  my  own  individuality,  and  should  hate  to 
change  it,  but  there  is  one  man,  whom  I  do  not  know  and 
never  met,  with  whom  I  would  gladly  change  places  at 

any  moment,  and  that  is  Lord  S .     When  I  think  of 

the  incalculable  misery  he  has  prevented  and  ameliorated, 
the  amazing  amount  of  good  he  has  done,  I  say  to  myself, 
'A  life  like  that  is  worth  living,  in  spite  of  any  amount 
of  personal  misfortune,  disappointment,  or  discouragement.* 
What  are  the  triumphs  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  or 
the  greatest  statesman  compared  with  these  ?" 

"Mia,  dearest,"  interposed  Eeine,  with  some  anxiety, 
"you  are  exciting  yourself  too  much,  and  will  have  one 
of  your  bad  nights,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Quite  true,  my  little  Mentor.  I  will  be  calm."  And 
Mrs.  Herbert  settled  herself  back  among  her  cushions. 
"Let  us  turn  to  a  less  exciting  theme.  How  shall  we 
amuse  our  young  men  to-morrow  ?" 

"  I  think,  Mia,  it  was  very  rash  of  you  to  ask  them.  I 
fear  they  will  be  bored,  and  I  am  quite  sure  we  shall." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  anything  of  the  sort,"  returned  her 
friend.  "  I  mean  to  make  myself  very  agreeable,  and,  as 
you  know,  I  am  extremely  fond  of  good-looking  young 
men." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear  Mia.  I  ought  to  have  remem- 
bered that  no  one  could  be  bored  in  your  pleasant  com- 
pany. I  was  selfishly  thinking  of  myself." 

"  Let  us  pray  for  a  fine  day,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert.     "  We 
will  have  luncheon  first,  and  then  take  them  for  a  drive : 
that  will  get  over  the  afternoon  charmingly." 
"  Arrange  everything  as  you  please,  my  dear." 
"But  you  will  second  me,  Eeine?   you  promise  not  to 
be  distraite  or  disdainful  ?" 

"  Mia,  did  you  ever  know  me  to  fail  in  my  duty  as 
hostess  or  part-hostess  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  ever  did.  Now  I  am  going  to 
read  my  book  and  calm  my  excited  mind,"  said  Mrs. 
Herbert ;  "  and  I  advise  you  to  do  the  same.  It  is  a  good 
thing  to  exchange  one's  own  ideas  for  those  of  some  one 
else." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  123 

But  Heine  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  her  thoughts 
wandered  off  to  dreamland ;  and  when  she  came  back 
from  that  far  country  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTEK  XIY. 

MRS.  YERNON'S  note  was  handed  to  Alwyne  in  the 
Chesters'  sitting-room,  where  he  and  Jack  had  repaired 
after  dinner.  Mrs.  Chester  was  with  Lilah,  who  had  one 
of  her  headaches. 

As  he  read,  Alwyne's  face  blanched :  then  he  threw  the 
note  to  his  cousin.  Jack,  having  read,  looked  up  sympa- 
thetically. 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  go." 

Alwyne  gave  vent  to  his  anger  in  furious  and  passionate 
language.  He  heaped  invectives  on  Mrs.  Yernon,  and 
raved  and  stormed  about  the  room  like  a  madman.  Men 
are  not  frightened  by  each  other's  violence,  and  Jack,  if  a 
trifle  disgusted  by  his  cousin's  want  of  self-control,  ut- 
tered no  remonstrance,  but  waited  until  he  should  recover 
some  degree  of  calmness.  When  Alwyne  had  partly  in- 
veighed away  his  fury,  Mrs.  Chester  came  into  the  room, 
and,  seeing  his  handsome  face  all  distraught  and  perturbed, 
stopped  point-blank. 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  exclaimed,  kindly,  "what  has  hap- 
pened?" 

Alwyne,  nothing  loath,  poured  forth  the  recital  of  his 
wrongs.  He  would  have  confided  them  to  a  perfect 
stranger  in  his  present  mood. 

Mrs.  Chester  was  a  kind  woman,  and  her  nephew's  dis- 
tress excited  her  sympathy  at  once.  She  tried  to  console 
him  with  the  thought  that  his  rejection  was  only  tempo- 
rary, and  that  perhaps  everything  would  come  right  in 
the  end.  But  Alwyne,  like  a  spoiled  child,  passionately 
refused  to  be  consoled,  and  declared  that  he  had  been 
shamefully  used  and  was  the  victim  of  a  mercenary,  de- 
signing, heartless  woman  who  was  only  waiting  to  sell 
that  poor  innocent  darling,  Dulcie,  to  a  higher  bidder. 


124  ONCE  AGAIN. 

He  implored  his  aunt's  mediation.  Would  she  see  Mm, 
Vernon  and  try  to  get  the  truth  out  of  her?  When  Mrs. 
Chester  demurred,  and  said  that  she  could  not  possibly 
interfere  in  so  delicate  a  matter,  he  grew  very  angry  in- 
deed, swore  that  every  one  was  in  league  against  him,  and 
went  out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Jack,  though  he  mentally  resented  Alwyne's  rudeness 
to  his  mother,  felt  that  this  was  not  the  time  to  take 
notice  of  it,  and  only  remarked  apologetically  that  he 
was  afraid  Alwyne  was  terribly  cut  up  and  had  lost  his 
head  a  little. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  him,  of  course,"  returned  Mrs.  Chester, 
who  had  all  along  been  ill  pleased  with  Alwyne's  atten- 
tions to  Dulcie,  and  perhaps  in  her  heart  of  hearts  felt 
that  his  sufferings  were  not  wholly  undeserved ;  "  but  I 
can  quite  understand  that  Mrs.  Yernon  wishes  to  see  and 
know  a  great  deal  more  of  him  before  trusting  her  dear 
child's  happiness  to  him.  I  fear  Alwyne  will  make  but  a 
very  indifferent  husband,  and  that  any  girl  who  marries 
him  will  have  a  great  deal  to  put  up  with  from  his  violent 
and  uncontrollable  temper." 

"Dulcie  Yernon  is  a  dear,  amiable  little  girl,"  said  Jack, 
"just  the  sort  to  suit  him,  because  she  would  not  oppose 
him.  Alwyne  is  a  very  good  fellow  if  he  is  not  contra- 
dicted." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is  much  too  good  for  him,"  replied  Mrs. 
Chester.  "  I  think  she  will  make  an  excellent  wife,  and 
deserves  a  better  fate  than  to  become  the  slave  of  a  selfish, 
tyrannical  man." 

Mrs.  Chester,  good  and  kind  as  she  was,  could  not  help 
showing  the  soreness  she  felt,  for  she  had  fondly  pictured 
amiable  Dulcie  as  the  happy  and  fortunate  wife  of  one  of 
the  kindest  and  best  men  in  the  world, — namely,  her  own 
dear  son. 

"  My  dear  mother,  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  poor  chap !" 
urged  Jack.  "  He  has  always  been  rather  spoiled,  you 
know,  and  just  now  he  is  very  hard  hit." 

Presently  Jack  went  to  seek  his  cousin,  and  found  him 
Bitting  in  his  room  with  a  gloomy  expression  of  face,  hav- 
ing passed  from  the  passionate  to  the  melancholy  stage. 
After  a  time  he  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  go  out 
and  smoke  a  cigar  on  the  Promenade,  and,  having  talked 


ONCE  AGAIN.  125 

for  an  hour  and  a  half  about  his  woes  and  wrongs,  he  ar- 
rived at  a  state  of  comparative  calmness.  He  would  be 
hanged,  he  said,  if  he  would  go  right  away.  No;  ho 
would  stop  in  the  neighborhood,  if  only  to  aggravate  the 
old  woman  and  to  see  fair  play.  Would  Jack  swear  to 
tell  him  everything  that  went  on,  and  to  talk  to  Dulcio 
about  him  ?  Jack  promised  the  first  part,  but  averred  that 
he  could  not  run  the  risk  of  breaking  up  the  friendly  re- 
lations of  the  party  by  doing  what  Mrs.  Vernon  would  bo 
sure  to  disapprove.  Alwyne  abused  Jack's  selfishness 
roundly,  and  declared  his  intention  of  being  even  with 
everybody  all  round  some  day.  Jack  ventured  to  ask 
whether  he  would  go  to  lunch  with  Mrs.  Herbert  on  the 
morrow,  but  he  replied  snappishly  that  he  had  no  wish  to 
meet  Mrs.  Chandos,  who  was  just  as  mercenary  and  in- 
triguing as  her  aunt.  No,  he  should  go  to  his  sister  for 
the  present,  and  what  he  would  do  afterwards  he  bad  not 
yet  made  up  his  mind. 

When,  about  half-past  ten,  Jack  went  back  to  the  sitting- 
room,  he  found  his  mother  there.  Her  face  wore  rather  a 
perturbed  expression,  and  had  a  little  unusual  tinge  of 
color. 

"  I  thought  you  would  perhaps  come  in  again,  my  dear,'7 
she  remarked.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  hope," 
looking  wistfully  at  him,  "  you  will  not  be  vexed." 

An  uncomfortable  instinct  came  into  Jack's  breast  that 
he  would  be  vexed,  for  he  knew  there  was  only  one  sub- 
ject on  which  his  mother  could  have  anything  to  say  that 
would  be  unpleasant  to  him. 

He  tried  to  smile  :'n  a  gay  and  unconscious  manner. 

"  What  can  you  possibly  have  to  say  that  would  vex 
me,  mother?  Have  I  not  been  behaving  myself?" 

His  mother,  contrary  to  her  custom,  avoided  meeting  his 
eyes. 

"  I  heard  you  say,"  she  began,  "  that  you  were  going  to 
Cannes  to-morrow.  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  going  to 
see  Mrs.  Chandos." 

Jack  colored :  there  was  a  slight  stiffness  in  his  tone. 

"  And  if  I  am,  my  dear  mother,"  he  replied,  "  I  do  not 
quite  understand  why  you  should  be  afraid.'" 

"  My  dear  boy,"  cried  Mrs.  Chester,  with  visible  agita- 
tion, "  I  cannot  bear  to  pain  you,  and  yet  I  feel  it  my  duty 

11* 


126  ONCE  AGAIN. 

to  speak.  Pray  do  not  resent  it :  you  must  know  that  my 
anxiety  only  proceeds  from  love." 

Jack  made  no  answer. — something  in  his  throat  choked 
speech, — and  Mrs.  Chester,  after  a  moment's  pause,  went 
on : 

kl  I  cannot  help  seeing  that  you  have  fallen  in  love  with 
Mrs.  Chandos,  in  the  last  few  days  you  have  changed  so 
much  and  have  looked  so  harassed ;  but  to-night,  when 
you  came  from  Monte  Carlo,  you  seemed  pleased  and 
happy,  and  were  so  eager  about  going  to  Cannes  to- 
morrow." 

"  Well,  mother," — Jack's  voice  trembled  a  little,  but  he 
looked  very  steadfastly  in  his  mother's  eyes, — "  and  if  I 
do  love  Mrs.  Chandos  ?" 

"  It  would  break  my  heart  if  you  married  her !"  cried 
Mrs.  Chester,  with  strong  agitation.  "  You  know  that  I 
have  no  selfish  feeling  in  the  matter, — that  it  is  no  fear  of 
losing  my  home  that  makes  me  speak.  I  should  be  too 
glad  and  thankful  to  see  you  marry  some  nice,  good  girl : 
I  was  in  hopes  you  might  care  for " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  any  one  else,"  interrupted  Jack,  "  but 
tell  me  what  you  object  to  in  Mrs.  Chandos." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  very  clever,  very  fascinating," 
poor  Mrs.  Chester  hurried  on,  "  but  oh,  my  dear  boy,  she 
is  not  the  wife  for  you.  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  read 
her  books, — I  got  them  in  order  to  see  if  what  I  had  heard 
was  true, — and  they  have  shocked  me  beyond  words.  It 
is  not  only  the  love-verses,  which  indeed  I  cannot  undbr- 
stand  any  woman  writing,  but  what  horrifies  me  infinitely 
more  is  the  utter  scepticism  she  displays.  She  must  be  an 
atheist, — the  most  awful  thing  1  can  imagine.  Oh,  my 
dear  son,  how  could  you  take  such  a  woman  to  be  mistress 
of  your  house,  mother  of  your  children?  Think  of  a 
household  presided  over  by  a  woman  who  had  no  religion, 
no  belief  in  God !  think  of  children  brought  up  no  better 
than  the  poor  heathen  !  It  must  be  a  fearful  sin  against 
God  to  marry  such  a  woman :  you  would  be  calling  down 
a  terrible  judgment  on  your  head  by  doing  so  !" 

His  mother's  words  pierced  Jack's  honest  heart  to  the 
core,  for  some  of  these  ideas  which  she  enunciated  with 
such  passion  and  fervor  had  traversed  his  own  brain, 
although  his  principles  were  very  much  broader  and  more 


ONCE  AGAIN.  127 

liberal  than  hers.  Still,  he  had  been  brought  up  in  a 
religious  and  somewhat  narrow-minded  atmosphere,  and 
he  had  the  conviction  of  most  men  of  the  better  sort,  that 
a  woman  ought  to  have  a  certain  amount  of  piety  and 
should  bring  her  children  up  in  the  love  and  fear  of  God. 
Even  men  who  have  outgrown  what  they  think  of  as  the 
"  superstitions  necessary  to  keep  the  lower  classes  in 
order"  still  think  it  pleasing  and  right  that  women  should 
go  to  church,  say  their  prayers,  and  teach  their  children 
to  do  the  same.  But  Jack  had  not  outgrown  superstition, 
and  had  the  most  conservative  ideas  of  Church  as  well  as 
State :  therefore  his  mother's  words  made  due  impression 
upon  him,  though  he  endeavored  to  resist  their  influence. 

"  But,  mother,"  he  said,  "  neither  you  nor  any  one  else 
can  say  that  Mrs.  Chandos  is  not  as  refined,  as  ladylike, 
as  particular  in  her  conversation,  as  any  other  woman, 
even  if  unfortunately  she  has  listened  to  the  arguments 
of  unprincipled  men  and  is  not  perhaps — exactly  religious. 
There  is  not,"  vehemently,  "  the  least  breath  against  her." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  cried  his  mother,  "  do  not  wilfully  shut 
your  eyes  to  facts  !  Could  any  right-minded  woman  have 
written  that  poetry  ?" 

"  There  is  always  a  certain  amount  of  license  permitted 
to  people  with  poetic  imaginations,"  returned  Jack. 

"  Would  you  like  your  wife  to  have  written  or  to  write 
such  lines  ?"  persisted  his  mother.  "  To  my  mind,  there 
is  something  very  shocking  in  any  expression  of  passion — 
of — of  the  passions  of  the  sexes  from  a  woman." 

Jack  was  silent,  because  to  argue  upon  such  a  subject 
with  one's  mother,  particularly  a  very  religious  mother, 
is  next  to  impossible.  Mrs.  Chester  looked  down  at  the 
floor,  being  also  embarrassed  by  the  turn  the  discussion 
had  taken.  Jack  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  think,  mother,"  he  said,  "  you  may  make  your  mind 
perfectly  easy.  Mrs.  Chandos  looks  upon  me  and  treats 
me  very  much  as  she  might  do  an  overgrown  Eton  boy 
or  an  undergraduate,  and  would  probably  laugh  in  my 
face  if  I  presumed  to  take  the  liberty  of  expressing  my 
feelings  for  her." 

At  this  Mrs.  Chester  naturally  fired  up.  "  I  should 
think  she  would  feel  very  much  flattered  and  honored," 
cried  the  excellent  lady.  "  And,"  with  an  unusual  display 


128  ONCE  AGAIN. 

of  sarcasm,  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  you  were  to  pro- 
pose to  her  on  the  chance  of  her  refusing  you." 

Like  every  man  who  loves,  it  was  intolerable  to  Jack 
to  hear  his  idol  spoken  of  slightingly.  He  turned  away 
with  an  angry  gesture,  then,  recovering  himself,  said,  in 
an  agitated  voice,  "  Forgive  me,  mother,  but  I  cannot  dis- 
cuss Mrs.  Chandos  with  you." 

Mrs.  Chester  cast  an  agonized  glance  at  him. 

"  Are  you  going  to  break  my  heart  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  hope  no  one's  heart  will  be  broken,"  he  answered. 
"As  I  told  you,  mother,  there  is  not  the  very  smallest 
chance  of  Mrs.  Chandos  giving  me  a  thought.  Good- 
night." He  approached,  kissed  her  cheek  with  perhaps  a 
shade  less  of  affection  than  usual,  and  retreated  hastily, 
whilst  the  poor  lady,  fearing  to  add  another  word,  re- 
mained overwhelmed  with  trouble  and  anxiety.  She  felt 
certain  that  Jack  would  propose  to  Mrs.  Chandos  the  next 
day,  and  she  was  equally  sure  that  dangerous  woman 
would  accept  him. 

Jack,  as  he  sought  his  own  room,  was  in  no  happy 
frame  of  mind:  he  had  a  painful  consciousness  that  Mrs. 
Chandos  was  perhaps  not  the  woman  whom  in  cold  blood 
he  would  have  chosen  to  marry,  but  his  blood  was  not 
cold,  and  he  knew  that  if  she  but  held  up  a  finger  to  him 
he  would  follow  wherever  it  beckoned. 

The  next  morning  the  young  men  started  after  break- 
fast for  Cannes.  Jack  was  to  accompany  Alwyne  to  his 
sister's  villa  to  spend  the  intervening  time  between  his 
arrival  and  the  hour  at  which  Mrs.  Herbert  had  invited 
him  to  lunch. 

Belle  evinced  great  pleasure  at  seeing  them.  Her  hus- 
band had  left  the  night  before  for  Algiers  to  spend  a  fort- 
night with  an  old  brother-soldier.  But  when  she  per- 
ceived what  a  very  bad  frame  of  mind  her  brother  was  in, 
she  began  to  feel  doubtful  whether  his  companionship 
would  be  any  great  boon,  and  when  he  went  to  look  at 
his  room,  and  left  her  alone  with  Jack,  she  hastened  to 
confide  her  doubts  to  him. 

"  My  dear  Jack,"  she  cried,  the  instant  the  door  closed 
upon  him,  "  I  foresee  a  dreadful  time.  Alwyne  is  in  one 
of  his  most  detestable  moods,  and  if  I  have  him  alone  on 
my  hands  he  will  drive  me  to  distraction.  I  know  what 


ONCE  AGAIN.  129 

he  is  when  he  is  crossed  in  love.  His  temper  is  too  dread- 
ful :  he  abuses  everybody  and  everything,  or  else  sits  and 
looks  like  a  skeleton  at  a  feast.  My  dearest  boy,  do,  for 
pity's  sake,  come  and  stay  here  for  a  few  days.  For  once, 
three  will  be  much  better  company  than  two,  and  if  we 
cannot  manage  him  between  us  we  can  at  all  events  fall 
back  upon  each  other." 

A  thrill  of  pleasure  shot  through  Jack's  heart  as  he 
thought  of  the  delight  of  being  near  Mrs.  Chandos ;  but 
then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  better  wait  until 
after  his  visit  before  he  accepted,  in  case  he  should  see  the 
advisability  of  placing  the  sea  between  himself  and  a 
hopeless  passion. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come  if  I  can,"  he  answered ; 
"  but  I  must  leave  it  open  until  to-morrow,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  Nonsense !"  returned  Mrs.  Pierpoint,  bent  on  her  plan: 
"telegraph  to  your  servant  to  bring  your  things  over 
to-night.  I  will  write  to  auntie." 

But  Jack  declared  that  in  any  case  he  must  go  back  to 
Nice  that  night,  though,  if  possible,  he  would  return  in 
the  morning. 

Belle,  with  her  sharp  woman's  wit,  made  a  very  shrewd 
guess  on  what  her  cousin's  plans  hinged,  and  devoutly 
prayed  that  his  visit  might  prove  satisfactory.  The  day 
was  not  one  of  the  typical  days  of  the  sunny  South.  It 
was  gloomy ;  there  was  a  bitter  wind  blowing,  and  dust- 
storms  whirled  about  in  an  even  more  uncomfortable 
manner  than  they  do  in  much-abused  England.  And 
when  Jack  arrived  at  the  villa  there  was  a  dreadful  blow 
in  store  for  him.  Mrs.  Herbert  greeted  him  in  the  kindest, 
most  cordial  manner.  But  then  she  hastened  to  say, — 

"  I  have  a  very  sad  piece  of  news  for  you.  Poor  dear 
Eeine  has  a  frightful  headache  and  is  unable  to  make  her 
appearance ;  but  I  shall  do  my  very  best  to  entertain  you, 
and  you  must  try  to  put  up  with  my  company." 

Jack  felt  an  awful  sinking  at  his  heart :  he  could  not 
even  muster  up  courage  enough  to  make  the  attempt  to 
look  cheerful  or  to  say  something  civil.  He  was  oppressed 
by  the  idea  that  the  headache  was  only  a  woman's  excuse, 
and  that  it  was  Mrs.  Chandos's  way  of  intimating  to  him 
that  his  society  was  unwelcome  to  her. 


130  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Mrs.  Herbert  divined  his  thought  in  an  instant,  but  had 
too  much  tact  to  let  him  see  that  she  did  so. 

"It  is  only  a  pleasure  deferred,"  she  said,  brightly. 
"  In  a  day  or  two  you  must  come  over  again,  if  you  will, 
and  the  original  programme  shall  be  carried  out." 

During  luncheon  Mrs.  Herbert  was  so  bright  and  cheery 
that  Jack's  drooping  spirits  began  to  revive.  She  seemed 
to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  they  were  to  see  a 
good  deal  of  him  at  the  villa,  and  he  found  courage  to  tell 
her  that  Mrs.  Pierpoint  wished  him  to  spend  a  few  days 
with  her. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  Mrs.  Herbert  said.  "  I  hope  you  will, 
and  that  we  shall  see  you  very  often.  We  are  two  lonely 
women,  and  we  pretend  to  like  solitude  and  to  be  unso- 
ciable, but  I  really  believe  that  we  are  very  glad  now  and 
then  to  be  invaded  by  cheerful  people  from  the  outer 
world.  It  may  be  all  very  well  for  an  elderly  invalid  like 
myself,"  she  added,  smiling,  "but  it  is  not  right  for  a 
charming  young  woman  like  Keine." 

Jack,  whose  spirits  were  reviving,  wished  politely  to 
protest  against  her  reference  to  herself,  but  she  made  a 
little  gesture  with  her  hand. 

"  I  have  no  youth  and  no  illusions  left,"  she  said,  cheer- 
fully. "  Please  take  me  at  my  own  estimate,  and  do  not 
think  it  necessary  to  make  civil  little  disclaimers  when  I 
refer  to  my  age.  You  see,  it  gives  a  woman  so  much  more 
freedom  and  license  when  it  is  once  understood  that  she 
has  no  longer  any  youthful  aspirations  and  is  to  be  treated 
as  a  friendly  and  benevolent  godmother.  I  have  several 
godsons  and  god-daughters,  and  am  always  ready  to  add 
to  their  number." 

This  was  a  kind  way  of  intimating  to  Jack  that  she 
took  a  friendly  interest  in  him ;  and  he  recognized  the  in- 
tention, and  began  to  think  his  hostess  a  very  delightful 
person. 

"  We  had  proposed,"  she  said,  when  luncheon  was  over, 
"  to  take  you  for  a  drive  this  afternoon ;  but  I  dare  not  ven- 
ture out  on  such  a  day :  so  we  will  go  into  the  salon  and 
have  our  coffee  and  a  chat,  and  as  soon  as  you  begin  to  get 
bored  you  shall  make  any  pretext  you  like,  or  none  at  all, 
and  run  away. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  when  they   were  in> 


ONCE  AGAIN.  131 

stalled  by  the  fire  in  two  comfortable  chairs,  and  the  ser- 
vant who  brought  the  coffee  had  departed,  "  we  can  talk 
at  our  ease.  I  have  a  theory  that  it  is  wrong  to  make 
personal  remarks  before  servants ;  and  yet  it  is  so  much 
more  interesting  to  talk  about  people  than  things." 

Then  she  drew  him  on  to  speak  about  his  cousins,  his 
little  invalid  sister,  his  own  interests  and  pursuits,  then, 
very  gradually,  to  the  subject  of  Eeine.  She  adroitly 
ignored  his  feelings  for  her  friend,  and  spoke  of  her  as 
though  she  wished  to  call  his  attention  to  the  charms  of  a 
person  whom  he  did  not  perhaps  sufficiently  appreciate. 
Jack  listened  with  eagerness,  with  a  glowing  heart:  he 
began  to  feel  as  if  he  had  known  Mrs.  Herbert  all  his  life, 
instead  of  having  only  met  her  yesterday  for  the  first 
time. 

"  There  is  no  one,"  Mrs.  Herbert  said,  "  who  has  been 
more  misunderstood  than  Keine.  It  is  perhaps  her  own 
fault  a  little  ;  and  yet,  though  I  do  not  think  she  willingly 
gives  false  impressions,  she  does  not  try  to  avoid  doing  so, 
or  to  correct  them  when  once  they  are  made.  The  real 
Keine  is  the  most  kind-hearted,  lovable,  affectionate  creat- 
ure in  the  world." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  exclaimed  Jack,  with  a  warmth  which 
would  have  betrayed  him  even  if  his  feelings  had  be.en  a 
secret  until  now. 

"  Perhaps,"  Mrs.  Herbert  continued,  reflectively,  without 
giving  any  sign  of  having  noticed  his  enthusiasm,  "per- 
haps you  do  not  know  by  experience  how  wrong  things 
are  apt  to  go  in  this  world,  and  that  many  people,  women 
especially,  "are  doomed  to  contend  with  the  very  trials 
which  are  most  painful  to  them  and  cause  them  the  great- 
est suffering.  Now,  if  Eeine,  with  her  impulsive  nature, 
had  married  a  man  who  was  at  all  suited  to  her,  she  might 
have  been  one  of  the  happiest  women  in  the  world ;  and 
certainly  no  woman  could  have  been  better  calculated  to 
make  a  man  happy." 

Jack  devoured  Mrs.  Herbert  with  his  eyes,  as  though 
imploring  further  confidences. 

She  had  every  intention  of  confiding  in  him,  for  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  about  him  and  had  taken  a  very  shrewd 
diagnosis  of  his  character.  He  was  true ;  he  was  to  be 
trusted ;  he  was  devoted  to  Koine,  and  he  was  not  in  the 


132  ONCE  AGAIN. 

very  least  likely  to  repeat  what  she  said.  Not  that  she 
intended  to  make  any  indiscreet  revelations  to  him :  there 
was  nothing  in  Heine's  life  that  a  man  who  loved  her 
would  not  love  her  the  better  for  hearing, — nothing  but 
what  would  increase  the  chivalrous  feeling  of  a  good  man 
and  intensify  his  desire  to  love  and  to  protect  her.  Mrs. 
Herbert  made  no  apology  for  confiding  in  Jack,  but  now 
rather  assumed  the  air  and  manner  of  one  who  talks  to  a 
common  friend  of  some  person  whom  both  love.  She  was 
an  excellent  talker,  and  could  tell  a  story  with  a  smooth- 
ness and  consecutiveness  which  few  people  are  gifted 
with.  Probably  if  Eeine  had  been  aware  that  her  friend 
was  beguiling  Sir  John  Chester  with  her  biography  she 
would  have  been  very  angry ;  but  the  blessing  that  we 
ought  to  be  most  thankful  for  in  this  life — ignorance  of 
what  is  said  of  us  in  our  absence — was  vouchsafed  to  her, 
and,  little  dreaming  of  the  deeply-interesting  tete-d-tete 
that  was  going  on  down-stairs,  she  was  hoping  that  poor 
dear  Mia  was  not  being  too  dreadfully  bored. 

Poor  dear  Mia,  however,  was  very  far  from  being  bored. 
She  had  taken  an  immense  fancy  to  Jack ;  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  he  was  the  very  man  to  make  Eeine 
happy,  and  she  already  intended  to  assist  him  by  every 
means  in  her  power,  being  perfectly  aware  at  the  same 
time  that  she  would  have  to  be  very  clever  and  cunning 
to  conceal  her  designs  from  that  acute  lady.  As  for  Jack, 
I  leave  the  reader  to  conjecture  what  his  feelings  were  as 
he  listened  to  and  talked  of  the  one  subject  that  engrossed 
his  soul. 


CHAPTBE  XY. 

"  IF  her  mother  had  been  alive,  Eeine  would  never  have 
married  that  wretch,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  with  vindictive 
energy.  "  The  worst  misfortune  that  ever  happened  to 
the  poor  dear  child  was  the  death  of  Mrs.  Chandos.  She 
was  a  charming  woman,  and  she  and  Eeine  were  devoted 
to  each  other." 

"  Mrs.  Chandos,  I  suppose,  was  Mrs.  Vernon's  sister  ?" 
ventured  Jack. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  133 

"  Yes ;  but  I  do  not  think  they  were  at  all  alike.  I 
knew  Mrs.  Chandos  well,  but  my  acquaintance  with  Mrs. 
Yernon  is  only  slight.  She  seems  a  thorough  woman  of 
the  world,  and  a  much  more  decided  person  than  her 
sister,  who  was  very  gentle,  very  yielding,  easily  trampled 
on.  From  what  I  have  seen  of  Mrs.  Yernon,"  smiling,  "I 
do  not  think  it  would  be  easy  to  trample  on  her." 

"  No  indeed,"  smiled  Jack,  in  response. 

"  When  a  woman  is  soft  and  gentle,"  observed  Mrs.  Her- 
bert, "  a  man — that  is,  a  husband — frequently  takes  the 
opportunity  of  oppressing  her." 

"Eeally!"  uttered  Jack.  "I'm  afraid  I  don't  know 
much  about  these  things." 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  continued  Mrs.  Herbert,  lightly, 
"  if  the  husband  is  weak  and  easy-going,  he  is  tolerably 
sure  to  be  ruled  with  a  high  hand  by  his  wife." 

"  I  suppose,"  remarked  Jack,  doubtfully,  "  that  opposite 
natures  were  intended  to  come  together." 

"  To  the  great  detriment  of  the  next  generation,"  said 
Mrs.  Herbert.  "  Eeine  and  I  have  a  theory  that  the  cause 
of  most  of  our  mental  suffering  is  the  opposing  influences 
of  the  two  separate  natures  and  wills  that  we  inherit  from 
our  two  parents  struggling  within  us.  However,"  with  a 
light  laugh,  seeking  Jack's  look  of  perplexity,  "  I  am  not 
going  to  bore  you  with  our  theories  (we  have  a  good  many 
between  us) ;  at  all  events,  not  now.  They  shall  be  kept 
for  another  day.  I  did  not  like  Colonel  Chandos  at  all. 
He  could,  and  did,  make  himself  very  agreeable  in  society, 
but  was  extremely  despotic,  arrogant,  and  ill-tempered  at 
home.  Eeine  inherited  something  of  his  fiery  spirit  as 
well  as  her  mother's  kind  heart  and  sweet  nature,  and  she 
resented  his  behavior,  and  would  have  shown  her  resent- 
ment but  for  her  mother's  entreaties.  The  two  were  all 
in  all  to  each  other,  and  then,  as  misfortune  would  have 
it,  Mrs.  Chandos  died  from  the  effects  of  an  accident  when 
Eeine  was  just  seventeen,  and,  poor  dear  child!  her  heart 
was  all  but  broken.  For  some  months  she  stayed  with 
me,  then  she  went  to  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Yernon,  and  finally 
it  was  decided  that  she  was  to  return  to  her  father  to  pre- 
side over  his  house.  This  did  not  answer  particularly 
well :  he  was  tyrannical  and  disagreeable,  and  she  resented 
his  treatment  of  her,  and  now  there  was  no  mother  to 

12 


134  ONCE  AGAIN. 

stand  between  them.  It  was  just  at  the  time  when  she 
felt  most  unhappy  and  unsettled  at  home  that  she  met 
Captain  Bernard,  who  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her. 
I  believe — I  hope  I  do  not  do  him  injustice — that  Colonel 
Chandos  knew  that  he  had  led  anything  but  a  reputable 
life,  and  that  he  drank  ;  but  he  was  rich  and  heir-presump- 
tive to  a  barony,  so  the  colonel,  being  rather  anxious  to 
break  up  his  establishment  and  enjoy  more  freedom  for 
himself,  put  no  obstacle  in  the  way.  Eeine  was  always 
imaginative  and  romantically  inclined,  poor  dear  child,  BO 
she  proceeded  to  idealize  her  lover,  and  to  throw  a  halo 
of  her  own  creating  round  him,  and,  as  he  was  very  cai  e- 
ful  to  keep  his  bad  habits  in  the  background,  she  imag- 
ined him  a  sort  of  hero,  and  looked  forward  to  the  happi- 
ness that  only  exists  in  story-books." 

Jack  gazed  earnestly  at  his  companion. 

"  You  seem  to  take  a  very  bad  view  of  life,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  really  think  there  is  no  happiness  in  it?" 

"  I  think  there  is  plenty  of  happiness  for  people  with 
good  health  and  good  digestions,"  answered  Mrs.  Herbert, 
with  something  between  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  I  think 
there  is  physical  happiness  and  enjoyment,  but  that  is  for 
those  who  do  not  look  much  beyond  the  physical ;  but  for 
people  troubled  with  great  ideas  and  imaginations  I  be- 
lieve there  is  a  good  deal  more  misery  than  happiness. 
Young  ladies  who  write  poetry  and  look  at  the  stars  and 
dream  of  knights  and  heroes  are  apt  to  suffer  very  rude 
revulsions  of  feeling  when  they  come  in  contact  with  the 
hard  and  prosaic  realities  of  life."  s 

"  But,"  said  Jack,  with  some  warmth,  "  every  man  does 
not  turn  out  a  drunken  blackguard ;  and  if  a  beautiful 
girl  married  a — a  decently  good  sort  of  fellow  who  was 
devoted  to  her,  even  if  he  did  not  come  up  to  her  imagi- 
nation, I  suppose  there  might  be  a  chance  of  his  making 
her  tolerably  happy." 

"  Of  course  there  is  every  chance,"  Mrs.  Herbert  an- 
swered. "  If  Heine  had  married  some  nice,  kind  man  who 
loved  her,  I  believe  she  would  have  been  a  comparatively 
happy  woman.  She  would  have  come  down  from  the 
skies  and  found  the  earth  quite  habitable.  I  feel  sure  that 
under  some  circumstances  she  might  still  be  happy.  I  told 
her  so  only  last  night." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  135 

"  And  what  did  she  say?"  asked  Jack,  eagerly. 

"  She  poo-poohed  the  idea,  of  course.  But  1  do  not. 
despair." 

Jack  looked  ardently  at  Mrs.  Herbert  as  though  he 
were  dying  to  say  something,  but  she  hurried  on  with  her 
story : 

"  Well,  Eeine  married,  and  for  a  month  everything  went 
smoothly.  Captain  Bernard  put  a  patent-leather  boot  on 
his  cloven  foot  until  unfortunately  he  met  an  old  boon- 
companion  whom  he  invited  to  dinner.  When  they  joined 
Heine  in  the  drawing-room,  she  was  painfully  impressed 
by  something  in  her  husband's  demeanor,  and  retired  early. 
The  pair  adjourned  down-stairs,  and  Captain  Bernard,  when 
he  again  joined  his  wife,  was  hopelessly  drunk.  There 
was  a  scene  next  morning:  she  threatened  to  leave  him: 
he  promised  reformation  ;  but  after  that  his  lapses  from 
sobriety  became  frequent.  Eeine  fled  to  her  father,  who 
declined  to  receive  her,  and  told  her  bluntly  that  she  must 
make  the  best  of  things,  and  she  had  no  choice  but  to  re- 
turn to  her  wretched  home  for  a  time.  Her  love  had 
turned  to  loathing  and  contempt ;  her  husband,  incensed 
by  her  coldness  and  disgust,  began  to  hate  her ;  he  left 
her  and  consorted  openly  with  disreputable  people,  and 
one  night  he  threw  a  decanter  at  her  which  struck  her 
head  and  caused  her  nearly  to  bleed  to  death.  A  doctor 
was  sent  for:  the  butler  and  footmen  saw  her  fainting 
on  the  floor:  there  was  no  lack  of  evidence  of  his  cru- 
elty." 

Jack's  face  was  rigid ;  his  teeth  were  clinched.  Mrs. 
Herbert  purposely  avoided  looking  at  him. 

"  I  was  abroad  at  the  time.  She  went  to  Mrs.  Yernon 
when  she  was  able  to  be  moved,  and  as  soon  as  possible  a 
divorce  was  obtained.  When  she  joined  me  some  months 
later  in  Italy,  I  think  I  never  saw  so  heart-broken  a 
woman.  She  would  not  go  anywhere  in  public  nor  see 
any  one :  she  had  a  morbid  idea  that  she  was  irretrievably 
disgraced.  She  was  subject  to  the  most  violent  outbursts 
of  despair  and  grief;  her  nerves  were  shattered,  and  1 
was  at  my  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do  with  her.  It 
was  then  that — unfortunately,  as  I  cannot  help  thinking — 
she  met  Henry  Bertram.  He  took  an  immense  interest  in 
and  gained  an  enormous  influence  over  her.  She  had  been 


136  ONCE  AGAIN. 

religiously  brought  up  by  her  mother,  and  her  mind  was 
then  tormented  by  the  impossibility  of  reconciling  omnipo- 
tence and  universal  benevolence  in  the  Divine  Being.  Suf- 
fering had  weakened  her  faith,  and  she  revolted  from  what 
she  considered  the  intolerable  injustice  of  human  life  and 
the  cruelty  of  unmerited  suffering.  Henry  Bertram  is  a 
robust  unbeliever,  perfectly  happy  without  a  faith  or 
creed  of  any  kind  except  the  creed  of  personal  probity 
and  honor,  and  he,  not  in  the  least  comprehending  the  dif- 
ference of  fibre  between  his  strong  resolute  nature  and  the 
delicate,  nervous,  imaginative,  dependent  organization  of 
a  woman  or  rather  a  girl  like  Eeine,  thought  the  kindest 
thing  he  could  do  for  her  was  to  convince  her  that  the 
religion  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up  was  a  sham 
and  a  delusion,  and  that  as  soon  as  she  cast  off  its  shackles 
and  ceased  to  torment  herself  with  vain  speculations,  ac- 
cepted realities  and  made  the  best  of  life  from  his  pagan 
point  of  view,  she  would  be  an  infinitely  happier,  more 
contented  woman.  And,  perhaps,  if  he  could  have 
changed  her  life  to  one  full  of  interests  like  his  own  and 
closed  her  brain  to  thought,  his  remedy  might  have 
answered,  instead  of  depriving  her  of  what  little  comfort 
she  had  and  taking  away  her  sole  main-stay." 

"  He  must  be  a  thundering  blackguard,"  uttered  Jack, 
between  his  teeth. 

"  My  dear  Sir  John,"  answered  Mrs.  Herbert,  looking  up 
at  him  with  a  smile,  "  you  could  not  have  applied  more  un- 
just or  untrue  epithets  to  Mr.  Bertram.  I  know  that  in 
the  tract-books  of  one's  youth  an  unbeliever  was  always 
painted  in  appallingly  black  hues :  he  was  bound  to  be  a 
drunkard,  a  murderer,  a  villain  of  the  deepest  dye ;  and  it 
is  almost  shocking  to  one's  pet  theories  to  know  that  so 
many  atheists,  agnostics,  or  whatever  they  are  called,  are 
really  excellent  people.  Henry  Bertram  is  the  soul  of 
honor ;  he  is  the  kindest,  the  most  benevolent  creature  in 
the  world :  he  has  discovered,  he  says,  that  good  is  good 
for  its  own  sake  ;  that  it  is  far  better  to  be  upright  and 
just  from  conviction  and  inclination  than  from  fear  of 
consequences ;  that  whether  there  be  a  future  or  not 
(about  which  he  gives  no  opinion,  though  he  sees  no 
probability  of  it  nor  has  any  desire  for  it),  it  must  make 
the  greatest  difference  in  this  life  both  to  ourselves  and 


ONCE  AGAIN.  137 

our  neighbors  whether  we  act  rightly,  kindly,  unselfishly ; 
that  it  is  irrational  to  be  always  thinking  about  what  is  to 
happen  in  another  world,  instead  of  minding  our  business 
and  doing  our  best  in  this,  which  is  at  all  events  a  certainty 
as  long  as  it  lasts." 

Jack  felt  a  keen  sense  of  disappointment  as  he  listened 
to  this  description  of  the  man  whom  it  had  pleased  him  to 
think  of  as  the  evil  genius  of  Mrs.  Chandos. 

He  was  not  inclined  to  take  him  at  Mrs.  Herbert's 
estimate,  she,  no  doubt,  being  biassed  by  a  personal  parti- 
ality ;  for  Jack  still  held  the  view  which  his  interlocutor 
smilingly  derided,  that  a  man  who  believed  in  nothing 
must  be  a  scoundrel  and  a  villain.  He  felt  that  he  would 
rather  not  discuss  Bertram  :  so  he  asked,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  what  had  become  of  Captain  Bernard. 

"He  is  drinking  himself  to  death,"  returned  Mrs.  Her- 
bert, "  but,  having  a  fine  constitution,  he  takes  a  consider- 
able time  about  it.  I  shall  be  glad,"  she  continued,  calmly, 
"  when  he  is  dead,  for  then  I  think  perhaps  Eeine  might 
be  induced  to  marry.  I  fancy  she  would  hardly  consider 
it  right  or  feel  quite  comfortable  about  it  as  long  as  he 
lives/; 

Jack  had  been  nerving  himself  to  ask  a  question.  Mrs. 
Herbert's  manner  was  so  kind  and  confidential  that  it  em- 
boldened him  to  commit  what  he  strongly  suspected  was 
an  indiscretion,  if  not  an  impertinence.  He  turned  un- 
easily in  his  chair,  the  color  deepened  in  his  cheek,  and 
then  he  said,  with  an  effort,  and  stammering  a  little, — 

"  Would  it  be  taking  a  very  great  liberty  if  I  asked  you 
a  question?  If  you  think  it  one,  please  don't  answer  me 
or — or  take  any  notice  of  it.  But — but  Mrs.  Chandos's 
poetry  would  make  me  think  that  she  had — had  cared 
very  much  about  somebody " 

"  It  does  seem  very  wonderful  to  think,"  answered  Mrs. 
Herbert,  smiling,  "  that  all  those  very  pretty  and  rather 
— well,  if  I  must  say  it — ardent  verses  were  inspired  by 
idealization  of  a  drunken  brute  like  her  husband,  for  I  as- 
sure you  as  a  positive  fact  that  Eeine  has  never  shown 
any  sign  of  caring  for  any  one  else.  She  has  a  very  poetic 
and  imaginative  nature,  and  you  know  it  is  quite  possible 
for  minds  like  hers  to  imagine  and  describe  all  sorts  of 
things  they  have  not  experienced.  I  have  often  been 

12* 


138  ONCE  AGAIN. 

quite  amused  to  hear  Eeine  discussed  by  people  who  knew 
nothing  of  her  and  simply  judged  her  from  her  verses : 
sometimes,  however,  I  have  been  very  angry,  for  the  most 
unjust  and  false  judgments  have  been  formed  of  her.  Be- 
cause she  writes  of  love,  the  world  pictures  her  surrounded 
by  lovers :  they  credit  her  with  being  her  own  heroine 
and  bestowing  on  various  favored  lovers  the  warmth  of 
feeling  which  she  describes.  There  is  not  in  this  world 
a  more  innocent  or  virtuous  woman  than  Eeine,  and  no 
one  has  been  more  surprised  than  I  have  at  the  passion- 
ate utterances  which  she  has  occasionally  given  forth  in 
verse.  I  am  tempted  sometimes  to  wish  she  had  never 
written  a  line ;  for,  though  it  has  given  her  a  considerable 
reputation  and  made  her  much  sought  after,  I  think  it  has 
laid  her  open  to  very  grave  misinterpretation." 

A  load  seemed  to  be  lifted  from  Jack's  heart. 

"  I  can  quite  imagine  what  you  say  to  be  the  case,"  he 
said,  warmly;  "  but  yet  it  is  very  natural  to  think  that 
when  people  write  about  a  subject  they  are  expressing 
their  own  feelings  and — and  experiences." 

"  That  is  where  ordinary  mortals  make  such  tremen- 
dous mistakes.  They  cannot  allow  for  the  power  of  im- 
agination. I  can,  for  I  also  am  imaginative.  If  I  were  to 
shut  my  eyes  and  you  were  to  describe  to  me  something 
that  I  had  never  seen  or  heard  of,  it  would  all  be  as  plain 
to  my  mind's  eye  as  if  I  had  witnessed  it  myself.  And 
any  one  who,  like  Eeine,  is  at  the  same  time  strongly  im- 
aginative and  sympathetic,  lives  in  a  world  of  his  own, 
and  sees  visions  and  dreams  dreams  so  strangely  like  re- 
alities that  commonplace  people  would  decline  to  believe 
that  the  seer  had  not  taken  actual  part  in  them." 

Jack  was  emboldened  by  Mrs.  Herbert's  frankness  to 
say  something  of  a  still  more  leading  nature. 

"  It  is  so  awfully  kind  of  you  to  treat  me  and  to  talk  to 
me  in  the  way  you  have  done,"  he  said,  looking  eagerly 
and  gratefully  at  her.  "  I — I  dare  say  you  have  seen  how 
much  I — I  admire  Mrs.  Chandos.  I  have  never  met  any 
one  who,  /think,  could  hold  a  candle  to  her.  Might  I  ask 
you  a  question  ?"  imploringly. 

u  A  dozen,"  replied  Mrs.  Herbert,  kindly. 

It  was  a  minute  or  two  before  Jack  could  muster  reso- 
lution to  drag  out  his  next  question. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  139 

"  Do  I  bore  Mrs.  Chandos?  Is  that  why  she  has  kept 
out  of  the  way  to-day  ?" 

Mrs.  Herbert  smiled  reassuringly. 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  answered.  "  I  give  you  my  word, 
her  headache  is  a  sad  reality.  She  is  suffering  torments. 
Why,  last  night  she  and  I  were  making  all  sorts  of  plans 
for  your  entertainment  to-day." 

Again  Jack  felt  a  load  taken  from  his  heart. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  humbly,  "  I  know  it  is  great  pre- 
sumption on  my  part  to  think  of  her  at  all.  I  cannot 
hope  to  interest  her  in  the  very  least ;  but " 

He  looked  down  at  the  floor,  and  left  his  sentence  un- 
finished. 

Mrs.  Herbert  took  pity  upon  him  and  gave  him  a  little 
gentle  encouragement. 

"It  is  always  a  mistake,"  she  said,  smiling,  "for  a  man 
to  undervalue  himself.  Do  not  be  too  humble :  the  wo- 
man whom  you  wish  to  win  never  thinks  any  the  more 
favorably  of  you  for  it.  You  should  be  friendly  and 
pleasant,  and  endeavor  to  amuse  her.  If  you  look  melan- 
choly, as  men  not  sure  of  their  position  frequently  do, 
you  will  bore  her,  and  that  will  be  fatal.  I  take  quite  a 
friendly  interest  in  you,  and,  if  I  can  help  you,  I  will. 
But  you  must  be  guided  by  me." 

Jack  made  all  sorts  of  protestations  of  gratitude.  In 
the  midst  of  them  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Chandos. 
looking  pale  and  languid,  but,  as  Jack  thought,  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  came  in. 

"  Why,  my  love,"  cried  Mrs.  Herbert,  rising  to  meet 
her,  "  this  is  an  agreeable  surprise.  You  are  better,  I  am 
sure,  or  you  would  not  be  here." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Eeine,  "  I  am  much  better."  And  she 
greeted  Jack  kindly. 

Mrs.  Herbert  insisted  on  installing  her  on  the  sofa  and 
making  all  sorts  of  little  arrangements  for  her  comfort,  in 
which  she  called  on  Jack  to  assist  her. 

He  felt  as  though  sunshine  had  suddenly  broken  through 
the  gray  afternoon,  and  his  face  beamed  with  pleasure. 
It  was  so  delightful  to  know  that  she  had  not  purposely 
avoided  him, — nay,  that  she  had  made  an  effort  to  come 
down  and  see  him.  It  was  as  well,  poor  fellow,  that  he 
did  not  know  the  real  nature  of  the  effort.  Eeine  had 


140  ONCE  AGAIN. 

thought  her  friend  would  be  so  bored  by  his  prolonged 
visit  that  she  had  come  to  relieve  her  from  her  task  of 
entertaining  him.  When  Mrs.  Herbert  made  some  pre- 
text to  leave  the  room,  Eeine  did  not  attempt  to  hinder 
her,  thinking  she  had  well  earned  this  respite. 

But  she  was  agreeably  surprised  presently  to  find  that 
Sir  John  was  not  boring  her.  He  told  her  about  Alwyne's 
banishment  and  despair,  and  Keine  grew  so  interested  that 
she  almost  forgot  her  headache.  Then  she  drew  him  on 
to  talk  of  his  sister  and  his  own  pursuits,  and  Jack,  giving 
heed  to  Mrs.  Herbert's  recent  advice,  did  his  utmost  to 
amuse  and  interest  her.  When  that  discreet  lady  re- 
turned, thinking  it  wiser  not  to  give  Eeine  time  to  get 
weary,  she  found  them  on  excellent  terms.  She  rang  for 
tea,  and  the  three  chatted  away  until  Jack,  with  deep 
reluctance,  and  only  yielding  to  a  strong  sense  of  the 
impropriety  of  inflicting  his  company  any  longer  on  his 
hostesses,  rose  to  take  leave.  He  was  coming  the  next 
day,  he  told  them,  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Pierpoint,  and  both 
pressed  him  very  cordially  to  come  again  soon. 

How  light  his  heart  was  as  he  left  the  villa !  how  differ- 
ent his  sensations  from  those  he  had  suffered  after  his  last 
leave-taking  there ! 

"  My  dear  Jack,"  cried  Belle,  as  he  entered  his  cousin's 
drawing-room,  "  do,  for  heaven's  sake,  tell  me  that  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  to  stop  with  me  for  a  few  days ! 
If  you  don't,  I  shall  be  in  a  lunatic  asylum  soon  and 
Alwyne  will  probably  have  committed  suicide.  I  never 
knew  him  take  anything  so  badly ;  and  that  is  saying 
a  great  deal.  I  suppose  he  really  is  in  love  this  time.  Tell 
me,  what  extraordinary  fascination  is  there  about  this 
girl?" 

"  Only  the  fascination  that  every  woman  has  for  the 
man  who  is  in  love  with  her,  my  dear,  as  far  as  I  know. 
She  has  none  for  me,  except  that  she  is  a  nice,  pretty, 
ladylike  girl.  Yes,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  come  and  help 
you  entertain  him,  poor  chap !  But  I  don't  think  it  will 
be  a  very  easy  task." 

Alwyne  was  at  that  moment  cogitating  in  his  own  room. 
His  one  idea  was  how  he  was  going  to  communicate  with 
Dulcie  and  to  see  her  without  her  mother's  knowledge. 
If  Jack  were  worth  a  straw,  he  reflected,  angrily,  he 


(JNCE  AGAIN.  141 

could  so  easily  help  him :  it  was  all  very  fine  to  talk  about 
honor  where  your  own  feelings  were  not  interested ;  but 
never  mind!  he  would  do  without  him.  And  Alwyne 
mused  and  mused  until  he  had  concocted  a  plan  for  cir- 
cumventing Mrs.  Yernon  that  he  hoped  would  be  quite 
successful. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

THE  four  ladies,  left  at  Nice  without  their  cavaliers, 
were  all  more  or  less  depressed  and  out  of  sorts. 

Dulcie  was  wretched  at  having  lost  her  handsome  and 
devoted  admirer,  Mrs.  Yernon  was  perplexed  and  worried 
beyond  measure  at  the  new  complication,  Mrs.  Chester 
was  miserable  at  the  thought  of  her  dear  son  being  ex- 
posed to  the  dangerous  seductions  of  Mrs.  Chandos,  and 
Lilah  was  irritable  and  vexed  at  the  absence  of  her 
brother.  The  first  three  exerted  becoming  efforts  to  con- 
ceal their  feelings,  but  Lilah  made  no  such  attempt,  her 
ill  health  being  always  a  sufficient  excuse  when  she  chose 
to  be  cross  and  peevish. 

Dulcie  was  beginning  to  conceive  a  sullen  dislike  to  poor 
Noel  and  to  consider  that  he  had  shamefully  entrapped 
and  deceived  her.  The  prospect  of  going  out  to  India  as 
the  wife  of  a  poor  soldier  no  longer  had  any  charms  for 
her;  indeed,  she  thought  it  detestable,  now  that  she 
would  have  had  the  opportunity,  but  for  her  unfortunate 
marriage,  of  being  a  rich  and  considered  woman  in  her 
own  country.  And  Alwyne's  imperious,  determined  na- 
ture was  eminently  adapted  to  control  her  weak  and 
wavering  one  and  to  impress  her  with  respect  and  admi- 
ration. She  blamed  everything  and  every  one  but  herself 
for  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  her :  she  even  said 
to  herself  that  it  was  her  mother's  fault  for  preventing 
her  from  seeing  Noel  and  by  so  doing  making  her  think 
ten  times  more  of  him  than  she  would  otherwise  have 
done. 

It  was  the  afternoon  following  Alwyne's  departure 
when  one  of  the  chambermaids  tapped  at  her  door,  and, 
with  a  mysterious  air.  handed  her  a  note  which  she  said 


142  ONCE  AGAIN. 

she  had  been  bidden  to  deliver  to  mademoiselle  when  she 
was  alone. 

Dulcie  blushed  vividly  as  she  took  the  envelope  from 
the  woman's  hand,  though  she  tried  to  assume  a  careless 
and  natural  manner.  She  waited  until  she  was  alone,  and 
then,  with  a  beating  heart,  broke  the  seal.  It  was,  as  she 
guessed,  from  Alwyne,  and  was  couched  in  the  most  pas- 
sionate and  despairing  terms.  He  wrote  of  his  unbear- 
able misery,  the  absolute  impossibility  of  enduring  life 
under  such  intolerable  circumstances,  and  he  conjured  her 
to  grant  him  a  meeting.  He  suggested  that  the  following 
day  she  should  feign  a  headache  arid  declare  herself  too 
ill  to  go  down  to  dinner,  and  then,  when  her  mother  was 
out  of  the  way,  steal  out  and  meet  him  in  the  garden. 

Dulcie's  mind  was  a  prey  to  all  sorts  of  conflicting  feel 
ings, — her  desire  to  see  Alwyne,  the  recollection  that  in 
doing  so  she  was  committing  almost  a  crime,  fear,  excite- 
ment, doubt :  her  brain  whirled  as  these  conflicting  emo- 
tions chased  each  other  through  it.  If  she  could  only 
have  had  some  one  to  help  or  advise  her!  but  she  was 
afraid  to  trust  Morton  now,  and,  of  all  things,  shrank  from 
letting  the  maid  know  that  the  hated  marriage  was  valid. 
But  the  desire  to  see  Alwyne  again  was  paramount,  and 
triumphed  even  over  her  fears,  and  she  presently  indited 
a  few  lines  to  him,  saying  that  she  would  try  to  meet  him 
on  the  morrow  as  he  wished,  but  that  it  would  be  only  to 
say  "  good-by"  and  must  be  for  the  last  time. 

She  confided  the  letter  to  the  chambermaid,  and  then 
joined  her  mother  in  the  sitting-room  with  a  serene  and 
unconscious  face.  Her  affair  with  Noel  having  given  her 
considerable  training  in  deceit,  it  now  came  tolerably  easy 
to  her,  and  she  was  not  visited  by  any  very  severe  qualms 
of  remorse,  as  a  girl  of  strong  feelings  might  have  been. 
She  did  not  mean  any  harm :  on  the  contrary,  she  meant 
to  tell  him  that  he  must  not  write  to  her  or  try  to  see  her 
at  present.  If  he  was  so  miserable  about  her,  it  was  only 
fair  just  to  see  him  and  bestow  what  consolation  she 
could  upon  him.  Besides  this,  there  was  a  strong  secret 
desire  in  her  heart  not  to  lose  him :  even  without  ac- 
knowledging it  to  herself,  she  clung  to  the  hope  that 
something — she  did  not  say  death — might  free  her  from 
her  hated  bond.  And  then  she  might  marry  Alwyne,  the 


ONCE  AGAIN.  143 

most  delightful  fate  imaginable,  and  she  would  get  away 
from  her  mother,  whom  she  no  longer  loved,  but  merely 
dreaded. 

When  Mrs.  Yernon  saw  her  daughter  so  apparently 
cheerful  and  unconcerned,  she  did  not  suspect  her  of  any 
fresh  duplicity,  but  only  reflected  wonderingly  on  her 
extraordinary  insensibility.  Strong-willed  and  resolute 
people  are  unsuspicious,  as  a  rule.  They  attack  their  de- 
sires in  a  straightforward  manner,  and  try  to  carry  them 
by  a  coup  de  main.  If  they  are  disappointed  and  thwarted, 
they  show  their  feelings  openly,  rarely  attempting  dis- 
guise ;  and  they  are  exceedingly  prone  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  other  people's  looks  and  actions  are  equally 
natural  and  spontaneous.  Having  dealt  a  crushing  blow 
on  Dulcie  by  assuring  her  of  the  validity  of  her  marriage, 
she  was  not  in  the  least  prepared  for  the  young  lady's 
continuing  to  encourage  Mr.  Temple's  suit. 

Whilst  despising  Dulcie  in  her  heart  for  the  weakness, 
poverty,  insensibility  of  her  nature,  she  still  thought  it 
matter  for  congratulation  that  the  girl,  had  so  little 
feeling. 

The  next  day  after  luncheon  Dulcie  complained  of 
headache.  During  their  afternoon  drive  she  assumed  a 
languid  air,  and  on  returning  home  went  at  once  to  lie 
down.  She  made  Morton  darken  the  room ;  she  sub- 
mitted to  the  operation  of  having  her  brow  bathed  with 
eau-de-cologne  and  water ;  she  even  went  so  far  as  to  take 
the  remedies  which  her  mother  prescribed.  And,  as  the 
dinner-hour  approached,  she  asked,  in  a  faint  voice,  to  be 
left  alone  to  sleep.  She  refused  to  allow  Morton  to  sit  in 
the  room  with  her,  and  begged  that  she  might  not  be  dis- 
turbed until  she  rang  her  bell,  when  the  chambermaid 
would  tell  Morton. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Dulcie  when  she  was  left  alone, 
for  she  was  in  such  a  fever  of  excitement  and  terror  at 
the  bold  action  she  plotted  that  it  was  only  by  an  ex- 
traordinary exertion  of  self-cdmmand  that  she  remained 
motionless  in  her  recumbent  position.  The  instant  she 
was  alone,  she  started  up,  locked  the  door,  dressed  herself 
in  her  darkest  clothes,  looked  out  the  thickest  veil  she 
possessed,  and  waited  with  what  patience  she  might  until 
she  heard  the  summons  to  the  table-d'hote.  She  delayed 


144  ONCE  AGAIN. 

another  ten  minutes  to  give  every  one  time  to  assemble  in 
the  dining-room  ;  then,  tying  on  her  veil  and  another  over 
it,  she  peeped  cautiously  from  her  door,  and,  having  as- 
sured herself  that  there  was  no  one  about,  hurried  along 
the  corridor,  descended  a  side  staircase,  and  made  her  way 
out  of  the  house  by  a  back  door.  In  two  minutes  more 
she  and  Alwyne  were  together, — he  pouring  out  all  sorts 
of  passionate  exclamations  of  love,  she  listening,  half  en- 
chanted, half  terrified.  It  was  in  vain  she  tried  to  tell  him 
that  she  had  only  come  to  wish  him  good-by  for  the  last 
time ;  that  he  must  not  try  to  see  her  or  write  to  her  any 
more  for  the  present :  his  vehemence  bore  down  all  her  re- 
monstrances and  protestations  as  the  current  bears  a  straw 
on  its  bosom.  He  could  not  live  without  her ;  he  would 
shoot  himself  if  this  sort  of  thing  went  on ;  if  she  would 
only  trust  to  him  and  do  as  he  told  her,  he  would  arrange 
their  meetings  and  correspondence,  and  they  would  be- 
tween them  manage  to  outwit  her  mother.  He  urged  her 
passionately  over  and  over  again  to  tell  him  what  the  ob- 
stacle to  their  love  was,  and  pressed  upon  her  the  sugges- 
tion that  there  was  some  other  suitor  whom  her  mother 
thought  more  eligible.  Dulcie  found  it  the  easier  plan  to 
allow  him  to  assume  that  this  suspicion  was  correct. 

Time  sped  on  with  that  incredible  swiftness  which  he 
only  employs  during  the  meetings  of  lovers,  and  Dulcie, 
who<in  her  calculations  had  arranged  that  she  must  not  be 
absent  from  the  hotel  more  than  twenty  minutes,  found  to 
her  horror,  when  she  looked  at  her  watch,  that  nearly 
forty  had  elapsed.  She  was  terrified :  the  table-d'hote 
would  be  over;  she  would  meet  some  of  the  hotel  guests 
in  the  passages  or  on  the  stairs,  and  they  would  infallibly 
recognize  her.  What  should  she  do?  She  tore  herself 
from  Alvvyne's  embrace  and  fled  back  to  the  hotel,  crept 
cautiously  in  at  the  door,  got  up-stairs  without  meeting 
any  one  except  a  waiter  and  a  chambermaid,  turned  into 
her  own  corridor  with  a  sensation  of  intense  relief,  opened 
her  door,  and — found  herself  face  to  face  with  her 
mother. 

For  a  full  minute — an  awful  minute,  pregnant  with  hor- 
ror— not  a  word  was  uttered  by  either.  "Dulcie  felt  she 
was  lost.  Mrs.  Yernon  had  realized  the  situation  and 
decided  upon  action. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  145 

When  she  spoke,  there  was  a  terrible  calmness  in  her 
voice. 

"  You  have  been  to  meet  Mr.  Temple?" 

No  response  from  Dulcie. 

"  Knowing  that  you  are  the  wife  of  another  man.  Per- 
haps you  are  contemplating  an  elopement  with  him.  The 
punishment  for  bigamy  is  imprisonment." 

Dulcie  stood  trembling  like  a  leaf,  looking  away  from 
her  mother.  Mrs.  Yernon  was  in  a  state  of  intense  exas- 
peration, but  her  tone  was  cold  and  incisive. 

"  I  see,"  she  continued,  "  that  if  you  remain  with  me 
you  will  end  by  bringing  some  terrible  disgrace  upon  me. 
I  have  no  longer  any  control  over  you,  and  deceit  is  a 
thing  with  which  I  cannot  pretend  to  cope.  I  now  look 
upon  the  accident  which  happened  to  your  husband  on 
your  wedding-day  as  a  very  great  misfortune  for  me.  But 
for  that,  I  should  be  relieved  of  all  responsibility  about 
you,  and  you  would  probably  be  on  your  way  to  India.  I 
intend  to  start  for  England  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and 
the  moment  that  your  husband  is  well  enough  to  under- 
take the  care  of  you  I  shall  hand  you  over  to  him.  Of 
two  evils  one  must  choose  the  least,  and  though  your  ex- 
traordinary story  may  give  rise  to  some  gossip,  still  I  feel 
it  is  better  to  let  the  world  talk  about  that  than  about 
some  still  more  disgraceful  situation  into  which  you  may 
possibly  get  yourself.  For  my  own  part,  I  shall  endeavor 
to  forget  the  past  and  the  affection  and  interest  which  I 
have  always  felt  for  you :  indeed,  I  shall  be  thankful  to  be 
relieved  from  the  frightful  responsibility  of  looking  after 
a  girl  who  has  neither  self-respect  nor,  apparently,  any 
sense  of  right  and  wrong.  If,  between  this  time  and  the 
day  you  go  to  your  husband,  I  find  you  holding  corre- 
spondence of  any  kind  with  Mr.  Temple,  I  shall  write  and 
tell  him  the  truth." 

Mrs.  Yernon's  words  had  their  full  effect.  Dulcie  was 
terrified  nearly  to  death.  She  sobbed  and  cried,  implored 
and  entreated,  promised  anything  in  the  world  if  only  her 
mother  would  not  forsake  her  and  give  her  up  to  Noel. 
For  now  the  weak  girl  was  persuaded  that  all  her  heart 
was  given  to  Alwyne,  and  the  thought  of  Noel  was  hate- 
ful to  her. 

The  sight  of  her  distress  did  not  touch  one  chord  of  pity 
G  k  13 


146  ONCE  AGAIN. 

in  her  mother's  heart :  she  felt  nothing  but  boundless  con- 
tempt for  her.  She  was  satisfied  with  the  excellent  result 
of  her  threats,  about  which  she  was  half  in  earnest.  She 
argued  seriously  to  herself  that  Dulcie's  extraordinary 
weakness  and  apparent  obliviousness  to  right  and  wrong 
might  lead  her  into  some  very  serious  predicament,  and 
she  told  herself,  besides,  that,  as  the  girl  was  really  mar- 
ried to  Noel  and  the  marriage  could  not  be  undone,  the 
only  thing  was  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  let  it  be  an- 
nounced to  the  world  as  soon  as  possible.  Her  own  ambi- 
tion on  Dulcie's  behalf  was  crushed  forever:  all  she  could 
now  hope  was  to  make  her  own  life  as  pleasant  and  agree- 
able as  possible.  Dulcie  in  India  would  be  very  much  like 
Dulcie  dead :  the  affection  which  she  had  entertained  for 
her  only  child  had  dwindled  away  to  nothing:  indeed,  th« 
girl's  companionship  had  become  irksome  and  the  respon- 
sibility for  her  caprices  harassing  in  the  extreme. 

If,  three  months  earlier,  any  one  had  told  her  that  her 
feeling  for  her  daughter  could  undergo  such  a  change,  she 
would  not  have  believed  it ;  but  Dulcie's  behavior  }iad 
caused  her  such  poignant  disappointment  and  annoyance 
that,  not  having  the  blind  mother's  love  which  no  ill  con- 
duct on  the  part  of  a  child  can  alienate,  she  had  grown  to 
look  upon  her  with  a  degree  of  coldness,  anger,  and  dis- 
trust which  swamped  all  warmer  feeling. 

.Dulcie's  tears  and  distress  did  not  move  her:  she  took  a 
revengeful  pleasure  in  terrifying  her  and  in  seeing  her 
suifer.  Why  should  she  be  sorry  for  a  girl  who  had  been 
absolutely  indifferent  to  her  feelings  ? 

"  You  have  brought  all  this  on  yourself,"  she  said,  un- 
pityingly,  "  and  must  take  the  consequences.  I  cannot 
help  you  :  you  have  put  yourself  beyond  the  power  of  any 
one  to  help  you.  I  have  brought  you  up  with  the  utmost 
care ;  you  have  been  guarded  and  shielded  from  harm,  you 
have  never  been  left  to  the  care  of  strangers  or  hirelings, 
never  had  an  anxiety  or  trouble ;  and  yet  the  very  first 
time  when,  for  your  own  sake,  I  thwart  you, — when,  for 
your  own  sake  (for  how  can  it  personally  affect  me  whether 
you  are  comfortable  or  uncomfortable,  happy  or  un- 
happy ?),  I  refuse  to  allow  you  to  see  more  of  a  penniless 
man  without  recommendation  of  any  sort, — you  at  once 
fly  to  deceit,  and,  with  the  most  extraordinary  folly  and 


ONCE  AGAIN.  147 

obstinacy,  take  a  step  which  is  to  ruin  your  whole  future. 
You  thought  you  were  in  love  with  Mr.  Trevor,  and  here, 
you  see,  less  than  two  months  after  you  have  married  him 
and  by  doing  so  cut  yourself  off  from  all  other  men,  you 
fall  in  love  again,  and  this  time  with  a  man  whom  I  would 
gladly  have  received  and  welcomed,  and  who  would  have 
been  an  excellent  match." 

Dulcie  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  self- 
abasement  and  misery.  Each  word  of  her  mother's  cut 
her  to  the  heart. 

"  Even  now,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Yernon,  with  unrelaxed 
severity,  "  I  do  not  think  you  realize  your  position.  Are 
you  aware  that  in  listening  to  Mr.  Temple's  professions  of 
love,  and  perhaps  permitting  his  embraces  (for  I  have  so 
little  opinion  of  you  that  I  think  even  this  quite  possible), 
you  are  committing  a  positive  crime  ?  If  your  husband 
ever  hears  of  this,  what  do  you  suppose  he  will  think  of 
it  ?  No  doubt  he  imagines  you  to  be  devoted  to  him  ;  and 
how  would  he  like  to  know  that,  when  he  is  lying  at 
death's  door,  you  are  stealing  out  at  night  to  meet  another 
man  ?" 

By  this  time  Dulcie  was  in  hysterics,  and  her  mother 
thought  it  expedient  to  discontinue  the  infliction  of  the 
moral  kourbash.  She  proceeded  to  leave  the  room,  saying, 
somewhat  unfeelingly, — 

"  You  had  better  control  yourself,  or  you  will  have  peo- 
ple coming  to  see  what  is  the  matter.  I  shall  return 
when  you  are  more  composed,  and  will  then  tell  you  my 
plans." 

Mrs.  Yernon  went  back  to  the  sitting-room  a  prey  to 
feelings  of  the  most  unpleasant  kind.  Until  the  last  day 
or  two,  when  Alwyne's  suit  had  taken  her  so  disagreeably 
by  surprise,  she  had  really  been  enjoying  the  life  at  £Tic« 
when  she  could  get  away  from  the  dreadful  thought  of 
Dulcie's  marriage.  The  sunshine  and  beautiful  scenery, 
the  companionship  of  her  old  friend  Mrs.  Chester,  and  of 
other  pleasant  acquaintances,  had  made  life  extremely 
agreeable,  and  she  had  been  in  part  able  to  lay  aside  the 
haunting  dread  of  the  future.  She  was  willing  to  wait 
calmly  for  events  without  going  to  meet  misfortune.  It 
was  obvious  now  that  she  must  leave  Nice  and  get  Dulcie 
away  from  Alwyne's  influence ;  and  she  came  to  the  con- 


148  ONCE  AGAIN. 

elusion  that  the  best  plan  would  be  to  return  to  London. 
As  to  travelling  about  alone  with  her  daughter,  the  idea 
was  intolerable;  and  now  Mrs.  Yernon  was  really  of 
opinion  that  the  sooner  Dulcie  was  re-married  and  handed 
to  her  husband  the  better.  She  had  fled  from  England  to 
be  out  of  Noel's  way ;  now  she  was  about  to  return  in 
order  to  seek  him.  Such  is  the  irony  of  Fate! 

But  what  excuse  was  she  to  make  to  Mrs.  Chester  for 
leaving  Nice?  No  allusion  had  been  made  by  either  of 
the  ladies  to  Alwyne's  suit  or  his  sudden  departure,  though 
Mrs.  Yernon  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  that  her  friend 
was  aware  of  the  former  and  its  connection  with  the  latter. 
It  would  be  better  to  avoid  the  awkwardness  that  a  refer- 
ence to  the  truth  might  occasion,  and  to  invent  some 
plausible  excuse. 

She  would  say  that  her  father,  who  was  a  very  old 
man,  was  in  such  a  precarious  state  of  health  that  she  felt 
it  her  duty  to  go  to  him  at  once,  as  she  had  received  a 
report  which  occasioned  her  great  anxiety.  The  next 
morning  she  would  telegraph  her  intended  return  to  Mr. 
Benson  and  the  butler,  and  the  day  following  they  would 
leave  Nice  and  travel  straight  through  to  England. 

Mrs.  Yernoi}  arranged  all  her  plans  with  care,  and, 
when  they  were  quite  settled,  went  back  to  her  daughter's 
room. 

Dulcie  was  lying  limp  and  exhausted  on  the  bed,  in- 
capable of  remonstrance  or  resistance  to  her  mother's 
will.  Mrs.  Yernon,  in  a  quiet,  decided  voice,  informed 
her  of  her  plans  and  of  the  reason  which  she  intended  to 
give  to  Mrs.  Chester  and  their  other  acquaintances  for 
their  sudden  departure. 

Dulcie  did  not  respond  by  a  single  word. 

Mrs.  Yernon,  on  leaving  her,  sent  for  Morton,  and,  io 
the  maid's  bitter  disappointment,  told  her  that  she  would 
have  to  pack  up  on  the  morrow,  and  assigned  the  same 
reason  for  returning  to  London  that  she  proposed  to  give 
to  every  one  else. 

Morton  could  have  cried :  she  had  never  enjoyed  any- 
thing so  much  in  her  life  as  this  sojourn  in  the  Nice  hotel, 
where  there  was  as  much  gayety  below-stairs  as  above, 
and  where  she  mixed  with  the  most  delightful  company 
of  valets  and  ladies'  maids,  was  invited  to  soirees  and 


ONCE  AGAIN.  149 

dances,  played  cards,  and  heard  the  most  interesting  and 
scandalous  gossip  about  all  the  families  in  the  place  who 
were  fortunate  enough  to  be  represented  by  domestics. 

But  she  could  not  remonstrate  with  her  lady  against 
thus  arbitrarily  cutting  her  off  from  her  new-found  joys 
and  pleasures :  she  could  only  exhibit  her  chagrin  in  her 
face  and  manner,  of  which,  naturally,  Mrs.  Yernon  took 
not  the  smallest  notice. 

Having  laid  her  commands  on  Morton,  Mrs.  Yernon 
sought  Mrs.  Chester,  and,  in  the  most  natural  manner  in 
the  world,  confided  to  her  that  she  had  received  news  of 
an  alarming  character  about  her  father's  health  and  felt 
it  her  duty  to  return  at  once  to  England.  Mrs.  Chester, 
the  most  truthful  and  unsuspicious  woman  living,  believed 
implicitly  what  her  friend  told  her,  and  sympathized  in 
the  warmest  and  most  sincere  manner  with  the  afflicted 
daughter.  She  deeply  regretted  the  departure  of  Mrs. 
Yernon  and  Dulcie,  to  both  of  whom  she  had  become 
much  attached.  They  had  made  her  stay  at  Nice  much 
pleasanter  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been ;  and  she 
extracted  a  promise  from  Mrs.  Yernon  to  go  and  visit  her 
in  the  summer  or  autumn. 

Mrs.  Chester  sat  ruminating  very  sorrowfully  after  her 
friend  left  her.  She  was  shy  and  retiring,  not  at  all  given 
to  making  acquaintances,  and  she  scarcely  knew  any  one 
in  the  hotel  or  the  place  with  whom  she  would  care  to 
associate  when  Mrs.  Yernon  and  Dulcie  left.  And  she 
thought  sadly  how  the  little  castle  had  been  thrown  down 
which  she  had  built  for  the  habitation  of  her  son  and 
Dulcie, — that  dear,  good,  innocent  girl,  who  would  have 
made  him  such  a  charming  wife.  And  he  was  now,  as, 
alas!  there  could  be  no  doubt,  under  the  pernicious  influ- 
ence of  the  dangerous  siren  at  Cannes,  who  had  cast  a 
glamour  over  him  which,  as  his  mother  believed,  had 
never  been  cast  by  any  woman  before.  What,  ah !  what 
was  to  be  the  end  of  it  ? 

13* 


150  ONCE  AGAIN. 


CHAPTEK    XYII 

IT  was  the  end  of  May.  Dulcie  and  her  mother  were 
entering  into  the  festivities  of  the  season,  and  leading  ex- 
actly the  same  sort  of  life  as  they  would  have  done  had 
the  untoward  event  of  the  previous  November  never  hap- 
pened. Noel  had  made  no  sign  :  they  were  ignorant  of  his 
fate,  his  whereabouts,  of  everything  that  concerned  him. 
Now  and  then  the  remembrance  of  him  came  across  both 
mother  and  daughter  as  a  sort  of  nightmare,  but,  by  com- 
mon consent,  no  mention  was  ever  made  of  him. 

Never  had  Dulcie  received  so  much  attention.  Fate, 
with  the  irony  in  which  she  delights,  brought  several  ad- 
vantageous suitors  to  her  feet, — suitors  whom  a  year  ago 
Mrs.  Yernon  would  have  welcomed  with  delight.  The 
frigid  reception  which  they  met  at  the  hands  of  both 
mother  and  daughter  seemed  to  increase  their  ardor.  Mrs. 
Yernon  was  forced  by  circumstances  to  turn  a  deaf  ear 
and  cold  glances  upon  men  whom  she  would  have  gladly 
smiled  at,  and  Dulcie  was  terrified  now  at  the  approach 
of  any  man  with  words  of  love  and  admiration  on  his  lips. 
For  Alwyne  was  the  real  possessor  of  her  heart,  and,  al- 
though she  had  not  seen  him  since  that  dreadful  evening 
at  Nice,  she  had  determined  in  her  foolish  head  that  he 
was  the  only  man  she  ever  could  or  would  love,  and,  as  it 
was  impossible  she  could  marry  at  all,  she  would  never 
place  herself  again  in  the  terrible  predicament  in  which 
that  affair  with  Alwyne  had  landed  her. 

She  went  to  balls,  parties,  and  plays,  she  danced,  she 
smiled,  she  talked  pleasantly  enough  ;  but  the  moment 
any  admirer  showed  symptoms  of  tenderness  or  undue  at- 
traction she  froze  at  once,  and,  contrary  to  the  old  axiom, 
the  more  fire  he  showed,  the  less  disposition  the  young 
lady  evinced  to  him.  Once  or  twice  Mrs.  Yernon  had 
earnestly  discussed  her  daughter's  affairs  with  Mr.  Benson. 
He  recommended  her  to  wait  until  Mr.  Trevor  took  the 
initiative.  There  was  no  question  in  his  own  mind  that 
the  young  man's  head  had  been  affected  by  the  injury :  he 
might  even  have  forgotten  the  fact  of  the  marriage,  or  his 


ONCE  AGAIN.  151 

health  might  still  be  in  such  a  condition  that  he  felt  it  ex- 
pedient to  wait  until  he  was  stronger  before  he  made  the 
necessary  overtures  and  explanations  which  would  now  be 
indispensable  to  the  recovery  of  his  wife.  It  was  quite, 
possible,  Mr.  Benson  suggested,  that  he  had  been  warned 
against  any  excitement  and  that  he  feared  the  consequences 
of  a  meeting  with  Mrs.  Yernon.  He  must  be  convinced 
ere  this,  by  Dulcie's  having  made  no  attempt  to  see  or 
communicate  with  him,  that  his  hold  over  her  was  not  so 
strong  as  her  mother's.  He  saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait. 
To  seek  out  the  young  man  and,  if  he  was  still  an  invalid. 
as  there  could  be  no  doubt  he  was,  to  put  it  into  his  head 
to  claim  his  wife  would  be  a  most  unwise  proceeding. 

Mrs.  Yernon  had  resumed  friendly  relations  with  Dulcie. 
After  their  return  to  London  she  had  felt  the  utter  im- 
possibility of  their  living  together  on  bad  terms  :  so  mak- 
ing an  immense  effort  over  herself,  she  pretended  to  ignore 
all  the  unpleasantness  which  had  gone  before,  and  to 
take  up  life  from  the  morning  before  Dulcie  had  sallied 
forth  to  commit  that  fatal,  irretrievable  action  which  she 
imagined  was  to  lead  her  straight  to  the  "  happy  ever 
after"  point.  As  this  would  have  been  almost  impossible 
had  they  remained  tete-a-tete,  Mrs.  Yernon  invited  friends 
to  stay  with  them :  so  that  for  some  months  now  there 
had  nearly  always  been  a  third  person  whose  presence 
made  the  amenities  of  life  necessary  and  comparatively 
easy.  At  the  present  moment  the,  in  this  case,  welcome 
third  was  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Yernon's,  a  widow  of  middle 
age,  childless,  prepossessing  in  face  and  manner,  good- 
tempered,  and  fairly  well-off.  Dulcie  was  fond  of  her, 
and  she,  Mrs.  Leslie,  entirely  reciprocated  the  affection. 
She  liked  the  society  of  young  people  better  than  that  of 
women  of  her  own  age.  Mrs.  Yernon,  who  was  suffering 
slight  inconvenience  at  this  time  from  a  strain  of  a  sinew, 
was  glad  that  Mrs.  Leslie  should  relieve  her  occasionallv 
from  the  duties  of  chaperonage  and  take  Dulcie  to  balls 
and  other  entertainments  which  necessitated  standing 
about. 

Mrs.  Leslie  loved  society,  and  was  disposed  for  all  sorts 
of  amusement.  She  particularly  liked  walking  in  the 
Row  in  the  morning,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  persuading 
her  pretty  cousin  to  accompany  her.  Mother  and  daugh- 


152  ONCE  AGAIN. 

ter  had  kept  their  own  counsel  well,  and  Mrs.  Leslie  had 
not  the  faintest  suspicion  of  the  exciting  romance  of 
which  the  quiet  and  modest  Dulcie  had  been  the  heroine 
a  few  months  before. 

This  fine  May  morning  Mrs.  Leslie  and  Dulcie,  as  usual, 
wended  their  way  to  the  Park,  and  took  chairs  placed 
with  their  backs  to  the  railings  and  commanding  a  view 
of  all  who  passed  down  the  Eow.  A  friend  of  Mrs. 
Leslie's  came  up,  greeted  her  with  warmth,  and  asked 
permission  to  take  the  vacant  chair  beside  her.  It  was 
at  this  moment,  when  her  cousin's  attention  was  quite 
absorbed,  that  Dulcie,  looking  to  her  right,  beheld  within 
a  few  paces  of  her  the  handsome  face  and  figure  of 
Alwyne  Temple.  The  blood  rushed  tumultuously  to  her 
cheeks ;  at  that  instant  he  caught  sight  of  her,  and  a  look 
of  delight  beamed  in  his  eyes.  In  another  moment, 
having  assured  himself  that  Mrs.  Vernon  was  not  of  the 
party,  he  had  quietly  taken  the  seat  beside  Dulcie  and 
was  pressing  her  hand. 

"Is  it  safe  to  speak  to  you?"  he  whispered,  with  a 
glance  at  Mrs.  Leslie's  averted  head ;  and  Dulcie  made  a 
sign  in  the  affirmative. 

"  My  own  darling !  how  delighted  I  am  to  see  you  once 
more !"  he  murmured.  "  If  you  knew  how  wretched  I 
have  been  all  this  time!  Tell  me,  is  your  mother  still 
dead  against  me,  or  has  the  mysterious  obstacle  been 
removed  ?" 

At  this  question,  fraught  with  horror  to  Dulcie,  the 
crimson,  which  had  been  waning  in  her  cheeks,  flowed 
in  full  tide  over  them  again.  She  shook  her  head  and 
looked  utterly  miserable :  the  delight  which  she  had  felt 
at  sight  of  Alwyne  was  swallowed  up  in  the  dreadful 
remembrance  of  Noel. 

Mrs.  Leslie  turned  her  head  at  the  moment,  and,  well 
pleased  to  find  that  Dulcie  was  apparently  so  agreeably 
occupied,  returned  with  redoubled  energy  to  flirting  with 
her  companion,  Colonel  Strange. 

Alwyne  saw  the  distress  in  the  girl's  face,  and  it  per- 
plexed him  greatly. 

"  Tell  me,  darling,"  he  whispered,  "  what  is  this  wretched 
obstacle  ?  We  are  as  good  as  alone  now :  you  know  you 
can  trust  me :  it  is  awfully  cruel  to  keep  me  in  this  sus- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  153 

pense.  I  have  never  known  a  happy  hour  since  that  night 
at  Nice  when  I  last  saw  you.  I  went  to  India,  and  haven't 
been  back  a  week.  Tell  me,  darling,  I  implore  you,"  he 
urged,  in  a  low  voice  of  entreaty,  afraid  of  attracting  Mrs. 
Leslie's  attention. 

It  was  an  awful  position  for  Dulcie,  who,  having  been 
lifted  to  a  seventh  heaven  of  delight  at  seeing  Alwyne, 
was  now  plunged  into  the  depths  of  woe  at  the  remem- 
brance that  he  could  be  nothing  to  her  and  that  it  was 
absolutely  impossible  for  her  to  tell  him  why. 

"Don't  ask  me!"  she  said,  miserably.  "I  can  never 
marry.  It  is  no  use  talking.  Mamma  will  not  hear  of 
it." 

"Do  you  mean,  solemnly,"  asked  Alwyne,  looking  at 
her  as  though  his  eyes  could  pierce  her  secret  heart,  "  that 
you  will  never  be  able  to  marry  anybody?" 

Dulcie  hesitated.  There  was  always  the  hope  that 
Noel  might  die:  for  all  she  knew,  he  might  be  dead  al- 
ready. 

Alwyne  pressed  her  for  an  answer. 

"  I  do  not  know  about  never,"  she  said,  at  last,  des- 
perately ;  u  but  not  yet.  I  must  not  even  talk  or  think 
about  it  yet.  But,  oh !"  in  a  very  low  voice,  "  could  you 
not,  if  you  really  care  for  me,  be  patient  for  a  little  and 
wait?" 

"  Be  patient ! — good  God !"  cried  Alwyne,  unconsciously 
raising  his  voice  in  his  excitement,  but  suddenly  checked 
by  the  curious  looks  of  two  ladies  who  were  passing  at  the 
moment.  Mrs.  Leslie  was,  fortunately,  too  much  engaged 
with  her  colonel  to  hear  his  exclamation. 

"  Pray  don't  speak  so  loud,"  whispered  Dulcie,  implor- 
ingly. "  If  my  cousin  were  to  hear !  And  if  mamma 
knew  I  had  spoken  to  you,  she  would  be  so  dreadfully 
angry." 

"  But  cannot  I  meet  you  somehow  without  your  mother 
knowing  ?"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  Wouldn't  your  cousin  help 
us  ?"  indicating  Mrs.  Leslie  by  a  gesture. 

"It  does  not  do  to  trust  any  one,"  answered  Dulcie, 
mournfully  shaking  her  head.  "  I  shall  not  tell  her  your 
name.  I  shall  pretend  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"  Is  she  staying  with  you  ?  Do  you  often  go  out  with 
her?"  asked  Alwyne. 


154  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Yes.  Mamma  is  not  well,  and  my  cousin  is  taking  me 
about." 

Alwyne's  face  brightened. 

"  Then  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  manage  something," 
he  said,  hopefully.  "  Tell  me,  are  you  going  to  many 
dances  or  balls  just  now  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Fawcetts'  to-night,"  she  answered. 

"That's  capital!"  replied  the  young  man,  joyfully. 
"  Charlie  Fawcett  and  I  were  at  Eton  together.  I  met 
him  only  this  morning,  and  he  invited  me,  though,  when 
I  accepted,  I  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of  going. 
How  I  shall  look  forward  to  to-night !  Do  not  be  late, 
my  darling !  Let  us,  at  all  events,  have  one  happy  even- 
ing together.  And  after  that,"  looking  very  handsome 
and  resolute,  "  we  will  see  if  something  cannot  be  man- 
aged for  the  future.  I  don't  intend  your  mother  or  any 
one  else  to  spoil  our  lives." 

Dulcie  seemed  to  catch  the  infection  of  his  spirit.  Yes, 
for  once  she  would  be  happy ;  for  once  she  would  forget 
that  dreadful  sword  of  Damocles  hanging  over  her. 

"  Wish  me  good-by  now,"  she  whispered.  "  I  do  not 
want  my  cousin's  suspicions  to  be  excited." 

And  Alwyne,  after  protesting,  complied  at  last  with  deep 
reluctance. 

"  Till  to-night,  then,"  he  whispered,  with  a  string  of 
endearments  hanging  to  the  words. 

The  next  time  that  Mrs.  Leslie  looked  round,  Dulcie's 
companion  had  disappeared,  and  she  suggested  that  it  was 
time  for  them  to  be  going  lunchward.  Her  colonel  ac- 
companied them  to  the  Grosvenor  gate.  When  he  took 
leave,  Mrs.  Leslie  questioned  Dulcie  about  her  friend  in 
the  Eow. 

"  I  forget  his  name,"  Dulcie  replied,  mendaciously 

"  He  is  very  good-looking, — wonderfully  good-looking," 
remarked  Mrs.  Leslie.  "  And  I  thought  he  seemed  very 
devoted  to  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Dulcie,  "not  at  all.  I  met  him  at 
Nice ;  but  do  not  mention  him  before  mamma.  For  some 
reason  or  other  she  did  not  like  him,  and  perhaps  she 
might  be  vexed  at  his  speaking  to  me." 

"  I  suppose  that,  like  most  good-looking  young  men,  he 
has  no  money,"  returned  Mrs.  Leslie.  "  Do  not  be  afraid, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  155 

my  dear:  I  will  be  the  soul  of  discretion.  But  I  wonder 
that  he  has  not  made  more  impression  on  you.  Tell  me, 
Dulcie,  have  you  never  been  in  love  ?" 

"  I  think  being  in  love  is  a  mistake,"  returned  Dulcie, 
evasively. 

"  But  how  can  one  help  it?"  said  her  cousin,  gayly.  "I 
have  always  been  in  love  more  or  less  all  my  life." 

"And  is  Colonel  Strange  the  last?"  asked  Dulcie,  de- 
lighted at  the  opportunity  of  turning  the  conversation 
away  from  herself. 

Mrs.  Leslie  blushed  like  a  girl,  and  all  the  way  home 
expatiated  on  the  agreeable  qualities  of  Colonel  Strange. 

Dulcie  excused  herself  from  driving  with  her  mother  in 
the  afternoon.  Her  mind  was  full  of  excitement :  she  was 
looking  forward  eagerly  to  the  night.  But  afterwards! 
What  was  to  happen  afterwards  ?  It  seemed  as  if  she  did 
not  care.  Only  let  her  spend  these  delightful  hours  with 
Alwyne, — dance  with  him,  sit  out  in  some  sequestered 
spot  with  him,  hear  him  say  again  that  he  loved  her, — 
and  then — come  what  would  !  How  strangely  things  hap- 
pened in  the  world !  These  people  who  were  giving  the 
dance  to-night  were  the  same  at  whose  house  she  had  met 
Noel.  At  this  moment  Dulcie  could  not  believe  or  realize 
that  she  had  ever  cared  for  him :  it  seemed  to  her  as 
though  she  must  have  been  under  some  fatal  spell.  When 
she  compared  him  with  Alwyne,  she  could  not  imagine 
what  she  had  ever  seen  to  like  in  him.  But  at  that  time 
she  had  not  known  Alwyne.  There  was  hardly  a  man  of 
her  acquaintance  whom  she  did  not  prefer  to  poor  Noel,  so 
prejudiced  and  bitter  she  felt  against  him  for  the  suffering 
and  wretchedness  he  had  caused  her. 

Morton  thought  her  strangely  fanciful  and  capricious  a« 
she  dressed  for  the  ball  that  evening.  Usually  compla- 
cently indifferent  to  her  appearance,  she  seemed  to-night 
intensely  anxious  about  it :  nothing  could  please  her  or 
convince  her  that  she  was  really  looking  her  best.  And 
yet  she  had  never  looked  so  pretty :  the  unusual  anima- 
tion which  excitement  lent  to  her  became  her  amazingly. 
Her  mother  was  surprised  at  her  beauty,  and  groaned  in- 
wardly as  she  thought  how  disastrously  its  advantages 
had  been  thrown  away. 

Alwyne  was  on  the  stairs  waiting  for  Dulcie  when  she 


156  ONCE  AGAIN. 

arrived  at  the  ball,  and  a  moment  after  she  had  greeted 
her  hostess  his  arm  was  round  her,  and  they  were  gliding 
away  in  the  most  delightful  of  waltzes.  The  rooms  were 
not  yet  full,  and  dancing  was  not  only  possible  but  enjoy- 
able. Three-quarters  of  an  hour  passed,  it  was  just  upon 
midnight,  and  Alwyne  had  not  left  her  for  one  instant. 

Dulcie  knew  that  she  was  committing  the  gravest  im- 
prudence,— that  her  mother  would  never  forgive  her  if 
she  ever  came  to  learn  the  events  of  this  evening ;  but, 
somehow,  the  danger  and  wrong  of  what  she  was  doing 
only  enhanced  the  excitement  and  delight  of  it:  she 
seemed  to  care  nothing  for  the  morrow. 

Every  one  remarked  this  handsome  pair,  and  their  ab- 
sorption in  each  other;  it  was  rumored  at  once  that  Al- 
wyne had  proposed  to  and  been  accepted  by  Miss  Yernon. 

Mrs.  Leslie  had  some  slight  misgivings  about  thia  very 
marked  flirtation :  she  had  never  seen  Dulcie  give  encour- 
agement to  any  man  before,  and  meant  to  remonstrate 
gently  with  her  on  the  subject ;  not  because  she  minded 
herself,  but  because  she  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  Yernon'fr  re- 
proaches if  it  came  to  her  ears. 

The  house  in  which  the  ball  was  given  was  a  new  one, 
built  in  the  old-fashioned  style,  and  there  were  quaint 
nooks  and  corners  in  it  highly  suitable  and  appropriate 
for  solitudes  d  deux.  It  was  close  upon  midnight  when 
Alwyne  sought  refuge  in  one  of  these  delightful  spots 
with  his  beloved  one.  It  was  a  curtained  recess,  partly 
draped,  and  screened  off  by  palms  and  flowers,  much 
sought  after  by  such  pairs,  who  wished  for  a  time  to  be 
alone  among  a  crowd  and  for  the  moment  to  live  only  for 
each  other.  Until  now,  though  Alwyne  had  cast  many  a 
longing  glance  towards  this  bower,  it  had  not  been  vacant, 
but  at  present  his  turn  had  come,  and  he  and  Dulcie  were, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  "  far  from  the  madding  :rowd." 

Dulcie  felt,  knew,  that  she  was  doing  wrong ;  but  the 
knowledge  did  not  hinder  her  from  doing  it :  Alwyne  had 
Buch  a  mastery  over  her  that  she  did  not  even  attempt  to 
oppose  his  will.  No  fear  of  their  being  interrupted.  She 
had  refused  to  engage  herself  for  any  dance  except  those 
she  gave  to  Alwyne ;  the  edge  of  her  tulle  skirt  peeping 
beyond  the  palms  gave  notice  that  the  alcove  was  occu- 
pied; and,  although  there  was  room  for  a  second  couple, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  157 

the  vacant  half  was  not  coveted  by  those  to  whom  the 
whole  would  alone  have  been  acceptable. 

Alwyne  was  madly  in  love  with  his  pretty  companion ; 
ho  refused  to  recognize  any  obstacle  to  his  passion,  and 
Dulcie  had  almost  got  beyond  the  remembrance  that  there 
was  one.  She  had  assured  herself  that  it  was  "  only  for 
this  one  evening,"  and,  satisfying  her  conscience  with  that 
excuse,  she,  as  we  have  known  her  do  on  previous  occa- 
sions, threw  prudence  to  the  winds  and  lived  but  for  the 
moment.  She  loved  Alwyne :  she  hated  Noel ;  she  ban- 
ished him  from  her  thoughts  and  refused  to  remember  his 
existence  or  her  bond. 

Alwyne  had  given  up  asking  questions.  Confident  in 
his  own  strong  will,  and  buoyed  up  by  his  passion,  he  was 
determined  that  all  should  come  right,  and  defied  Fate, 
Mrs.  Yernon,  and  everything  else. 

Now  he  cared  for  nothing  but  to  feel  Dulcie's  hand  in 
his,  to  breathe  impassioned  words  into  her  dainty  ear,  to 
assure  himself  by  the  expression  of  her  eyes  that  her  heart 
was  his.  He  drew  her  towards  him  ;  his  lips  just  touched 
hers,  when  there  came  the  crash  of  a  falling  palm,  and, 
starting  apart,  Dulcie  with  a  smothered  scream,  Alwyne 
with  a  muttered  curse,  they  became  conscious  of  a  hag- 
gard face  glaring  upon  them  through  the  flower-screen. 
Another  moment,  and  its  owner  stood  panting  before 
them. 

"How  dare  you  touch  my  wife?"  he  almost  shrieked, 
then  staggered  and  fell  forward,  and  had  not  Alwyne 
darted  up  and  caught  him  he  would  have  fallen  prone  into 
Dulcie's  lap.  For  one  awful  moment  the  girl  was  para- 
lyzed; then,  as  she  heard  a  gurgling  sound  in  the  unhappy 
man's  throat,  and  saw  Alwyne  holding  him,  she  started 
up,  and,  white,  scared,  terrified  as  one  who  has  seen  a 
ghost,  she  hurried  to  the  ball-room,  where  she  had  left  her 
cousin. 

Most  fortunately,  Mrs.  Leslie  was  standing  by  the  door. 
Before  she  had  time  even  to  give  a  startled  ejaculation, 
Dulcie  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

u  Come  at  once, — at  once  !"  she  whispered  in  a  terrified 
voice.  "  I  must  go  home.  I  am  ill." 

Mrs.  Leslie  was  a  woman  of  tact.  She  saw  that  some- 
thing serious  had  happened,  and  that  this  was  not  the 

14 


158  ONCE  AGAIN. 

time  to  ask  questions.  So  she  complied  at  once,  without 
a  word,  accompanied  the  white,  trembling  girl  down-stairs, 
sent  for  the  carriage,  and  hurried  her  into  it  the  moment 
it  arrived. 

When  it  drove  away  with  them,  she  asked  Dulcie  in  vain 
what  had  happened. 

"  Oh  !"  moaned  the  girl,  "  I  shall  die !  I  shall  die!  Oh! 
what  will  become  of  me  ?" 

All  sorts  of  dreadful  doubts  and  fears  took  possession  of 
Mrs.  Leslie,  but  she  was  forced  to  remain  with  them  un- 
satisfied, for  the  only  words  that  the  girl  would  utter  were 
repeated  asseverations  that  she  would  die. 

That  her  agitation  was  connected  with  the  handsome 
young  man  who  had  been  her  companion  all  the  evening, 
Mrs.  Leslie  never  for  an  instant  doubted ;  but  what  could 
he  have  said  ?  what  could  he  have  done  ? 

Mrs.  Yernon  would  be  very  angry, — would  never  let  her 
chaperon  Dulcie  again ;  and,  urged  by  this  fear,  she  said, 
almost  sharply, — 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Dulcie,  control  yourself.  Don't 
let  the  servants  see  you  in  this  state.  What  on  earth 
will  your  mother  say  ?" 


CHAPTEK  XYIII. 

MRS.  YERNON  was  still  in  the  drawing-room  when  they 
returned.  She  was  generally  glad  of  an  excuse  to  sit  up 
late,  and  to-night  she  happened  to  have  an  interesting 
book. 

Dulcie  saw  by  the  light  in  the  drawing-room  that  her 
mother  had  not  retired :  she  would,  therefore,  be  forced 
to  meet  her.  Indeed,  she  was  rather  glad  of  this,  for  she 
felt  it  absolutely  necessary  to  tell  her  of  the  awful  appari- 
tion of  Noel  and  to  beg  her  assistance  and  co-operation 
against  him.  So  she  said  hurriedly  to  her  cousin, — 

"  Do  not  come  into  the  drawing-room :  I  must  speak  to 
mamma  alone.  And,  whatever  you  do,"  imploringly,  "  do 
not  let  out  that  I  met  Mr.  Temple  either  to-night  or  this 
morning." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  159 

Mrs.  Leslie  took  the  hint,  and  went  off  to  her  own 
room,  her  curiosity  aroused  to  the  highest  pitch. 

Meanwhile  Dulcie,  still  trembling  and  white  as  a  sheet, 
went  into  the  drawing-room. 

"Good  heavens!  what  has  happened?  Are  you  ill, 
Dulcie?"  cried  Mrs.  Yernon,  at  sight  of  the  girl's  tell-tale 
face. 

Dulcie  threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  sobbed  hysteri- 
cally. 

Mrs.  Yernon,  who  was  strong-minded  and  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  hysterics  or  violent  demonstrations  of  feeling, 
said,  impatiently, — 

"  Do  not  go  on  in  that  absurd  way,  Dulcie !  Tell  me 
directly  what  has  happened  !" 

"  Oh,  the  most  awful  thing !"  sobbed  Dulcie,  racking 
her  brain  to  think  how  she  should  avoid  all  mention  of 
Alwyne  in  the  terrible  avowal. 

"  What  ?  what  ?"  cried  her  mother.  "  Tell  me  at  once ! 
What  awful  thing?" 

"  He  was  there !"  almost  shrieked  Dulcie,  and  gave  vent 
to  redoubled  expressions  of  emotion. 

"He!  who?"  said  Mrs.  Yernon;  but  she  had  a  strong 
conviction  as  to  who  the  man  represented  by  the  personal 
pronoun  was. 

She  rose. 

"  Now,  Dulcie,"  she  said,  "  for  heaven's  sake  exercise  a 
little  self-control  and  tell  me  what  has  happened." 

"  I  had  been  dancing,"  sobbed  Dulcie,  "  and  I  was 
sitting  out, — and — and  suddenly  I  saw  a  dreadful  face 
glaring  at  me  through  the  flowers,  and  then  he  came 
round  the  corner  and  said  something  about  '  my  wife  1* 
and  fell  down  in  a  fit." 

Mrs.  Yernon  turned  as  white  as  her  daughter.  In  a 
moment,  she  conjured  up  a  terrible  scene  of  curious  eyes 
and  whispering  tongues  and  her  unfortunate  daughter 
the  heroine  of  a  most  painful  esclandre.  She  stood  as  if 
turned  to  stone. 

"  Who  was  with  you  ?"  she  asked  at  last.  "  Did  many 
people  see  this — this  dreadful  scene?" 

"  No,"  gasped  Dulcie.  "  Only — the  man  I  was  dancing 
with.  I  left  him  with — with  the  other,  and  rushed  away 
and  found  Cousin  Anna,  and  we  came  off  at  once." 

"And  what  did  you  tell  Anna?" 


160  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Nothing, — not  a  word,"  sobbed  Dulcie. 

"  Did  you  give  her  no  explanation  ?" 

«  No." 

"  And  who  was  the  man  you  were  dancing  with  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  his  name,"  answered  mendacious  Dulcie. 

"  Do  you  think  he  heard  what — what  the  other  said  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He  was  holding  him  up,  and  I  rushed 
away.  And  oh,  mamma !  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Perhaps  he 
will  come  here.  Oh,  I  can't,  I  won't  see  him !  What 
shall  I  do  ?"  Dulcie's  distress  was  so  intense,  her  look  of 
terror  so  real,  that  Mrs.  Yernon  had  not  the  heart  to  add 
to  her  wretchedness. 

"  I  do  not  know.  We  must  think  about  it,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Oh,  mamma!  for  pity's  sake,  take  me  away  some- 
where !  hide  me !  Oh,  don't  let  him  find  me !  Oh,  per- 
haps if  you  give  him  money  he  will  go  away  and  leave 
me  alone!"  And  this  was  the  young  lady  who  had  been 
so  ardently  attached  to  Mr.  Trevor  that  she  had  walked 
out  of  her  mother's  house  and  married  him  clandestinely, 
and  here,  without  any  fault  or  crime  on  his  part,  on  the 
very  next  occasion  of  their  meeting  she  was  filled  with 
horror  and  loathing  of  him,  and  asking  whether  he  could 
not  be  bought  off!  As  this  passed  through  Mrs.  Yernon's 
mind,  she  almost  pitied  Noel  as  much  as  she  despised  her 
daughter. 

"How  came  I  to  bring  such  a  child  into  the  world?" 
she  groaned  in  spirit ;  but  she  kept  the  thought  to  her- 
self. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  bed  now,"  she  said,  "  and  I  will 
think  the  matter  over.  As  soon  after  eight  as  you  are 
awake  in  the  morning,  send  for  me,  and  I  will  tell  you 
what  conclusion  I  have  come  to.  Do  not  say  a  word  to 
Morton  of  what  has  happened :  tell  her  you  were  taken  ill 
at  the  ball:  she  must  think  what  she  likes." 

When  Dulcie  had  left  her,  Mrs.  Yernon  sought  her  cousin 
with  a  view  of  eliciting  what  she  knew  or  suspected. 

"  The  most  extraordinary  thing  imaginable !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Leslie.  "  Ten  minutes  before,  I  had  seen  her  dancing 
apparently  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  suddenly  she  rushed 
up  to  me  looking  as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost.  Fortunately, 
most  of  the  people  had  gone  down  to  supper,  and  I  man- 
aged to  g;et  her  away  without  attracting  much  attention. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  161 

But,  my  dear  Margaret,  what  was  it?  She  would  not  tell 
me  a  word,  and  I  could  get  nothing  out  of  her  except  that 
she  would  die." 

"  It  is  no  very  great  matter,"  replied  Mrs.  Yernon,  speak- 
ing in  a  light,  unconcerned  tone.  "  There  was  a  man 
whose  attentions  to  her  gave  us  a  little  trouble  last  winter, 
and  I  fancy  from  what  she  tells  me  that  he  made  rather  a 
scene,  and  then  fainted.  Very  disagreeable,  of  course,  and 
poor  Dulcie  is  not  very  strong-minded,  you  know.  But 
with  whom  was  she  dancing  ?" 

"  I  really  did  not  notice,"  replied  Mrs.  Leslie,  for  all 
three  ladies  had  made  up  their  minds  to  tell  each  other 
stories  pretty  freely. 

If  Mrs.  Yernon  had  known  the  truth,  it  would  have  as- 
sisted her  immensely  in  making  her  plans ;  but  it  did  not 
for  a  single  instant  enter  her  brain  to  consider  that  Mr. 
Temple  had  played  a  part,  and  a  very  important  part  too, 
in  this  painful  affair. 

Little  sleep  visited  her  that  night :  the  great  question 
which  occupied  her  brain  was  how  this  terrible  affair  was 
to  be  settled  with  as  little  scandal  as  possible.  Noel  was 
now  partially  recovered,  though  evidently  still  weak : 
there  could  be  no  question  that  he  would  claim  his  wife. 
She  must,  if  possible,  persuade  him  to  consent  to  some 
weeks'  delay  whilst  a  pretence  of  courtship  was  gone 
through,  and  then  he  and  Dulcie  must  be  quietly  re- 
married in  church.  She  did  not  despair  of  bringing  him 
to  reason,  and  was  much  more  occupied  in  thinking  how 
Dulcie  was  to  be  managed.  That  this  sudden  distaste  for 
him  would  last,  Mrs.  Yernon  did  not  for  an  instant  be- 
lieve: if  she  had  been,  or  fancied  herself,  so  fond  of  him 
once,  the  feeling  would  return  when  they  were  thrown 
together  again.  In  any  case  she  had  elected  to  marry 
him,  and  had  no  choice  but  to  take  the  consequences. 

Noel  would  write  or  come  to  the  house,  and  it  would 
be  best  for  all  parties  that  Dulcie  should  be  out  of  the 
way.  Mrs.  Yernon  bethought  her  that  she  might  send 
Dulcie  off  that  very  day  to  an  aunt  at  Brighton.  Eight 
o'clock  had  scarcely  struck  when  there  was  a  tap  at  her 
door,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  Dulcie,  white,  wide-eyed, 
looking  the  picture  of  fright  and  misery. 

"I  have  been  awake  since  five,"  she  said,  "but  was 
I  H* 


162  ONCE  AGAIN. 

afraid  to   disturb  you  before.     Oh,   mamma!   have  you 
thought  of  anything?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Yernon,  cheerfully :  "  I  am  going  to 
telegraph  to  your  aunt  Clara  to  know  if  she  will  take  you 
in  for  a  few  days." 

Dulcie  sighed  with  an  air  of  great  relief. 

u  Oh,  yes,"  she  exclaimed.     "  Anything  to  get  away !" 

Mrs.  Yernon  wrote  on  a  telegraph  form, — 

"  Can  you  have  Dulcie  for  a  few  days  ?  Wants  change. 
If  so,  will  send  her  by  one-fifty.  Answer  paid" 

She  rang  for  the  housemaid  and  gave  orders  that  it  was 
to  be  sent"  at  once.  Then  she  seated  herself  in  an  arm- 
chair, and,  looking  at  Dulcie,  said,  quietly, — 

u  We  must  now  decide  how  matters  are  to  be  arranged. 
You  are,  as  I  told  you,  as  much  Mr.  Trevor's  wife  as 
though  you  had  been  married  in  church,  and  he  can 
claim  you  at  any  moment  he  chooses.  He  will  have  to  go 
through  certain  legal  formalities  with  the  court  of  chan- 
cery, and  will  be  compelled,  fortunately  for  you,  to  con- 
sent to  your  money  being  settled  upon  yourself.  I  shall 
endeavor  to  persuade  him  to  ignore  for  the  present  the 
ceremony  at  the  registry-office,  to  make  a  pretence  of 
being  engaged  to  you,  and  to  marry  you  in  church  in  a 
few  weeks'  time." 

"  Oh,  mamma !"  cried  Dulcie,  trembling  like  a  leaf,  "  can 
nothing  be  done  ?  Can  it  not  be  proved  illegal,  or  cannot 
I  get  a  divorce  ?" 

""I  have  told  you,"  replied  her  mother,  coldly,  "that 
you  are  his  wife.  Nothing  can  alter  the  fact.  And  it 
seems  a  most  extraordinary  thing  to  me  that,  if  you  were 
so  desperately  in  love  with  him  a  few  months  ago  that 
you  could  defy  everything  and  everybody  in  order  to 
marry  him,  you  should  now,  without  a  shadow  of  reason, 
have  changed  so  completely." 

Dulcie  sat  looking  the  picture  of  misery  and  anguish. 

"  At  all  events,"  pursued  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  it  will  be  best 
for  you  to  be  out  of  the  way  for  the  present.  I  will  hear 
what  he  has  to  say  and  write,  or  perhaps  go  to  you  and 
tell  you  the  result." 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  answer  to  the  telegram  ar- 
rived. It  would  be  quite  convenient  for  Dulcie  to  go  as 
soon  as  she  liked. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  163 

Then  Morton  was  ordered  to  pack  her  young  lady's 
trunk.  She  could  not  be  spared  to  accompany  her,  but 
Mrs.  John  Vernon's  maid  would  do  everything  that  was 
necessary.  Mrs.  Yernon  enjoined  the  strictest  secrecy  on 
Dulcie, — which,  however,  was  unnecessary.  The  girl  was 
too  thoroughly  miserable  and  ashamed  of  the  whole  affair 
to  want  to  confide  it  to  any  one. 

She  had  been  gone  nearly  an  hour  when  a  card  was 
brought  to  Mrs.  Yernon,  who  was  sitting  at  luncheon  with 
Mrs.  Leslie. 

" Mr.  Alwyne  Temple"  she  read,  with  unfeigned  annoy- 
ance. 

"  Is  Mr.  Temple  in  the  drawing-room  ?"  she  asked,  rather 
sharply,  of  the  butler. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Why  in  the  name  of  all  that  was  disagreeable  should  he 
add  to  her  perplexities  by  coming  at  this  particular  junc- 
ture ?  When  the  card  was  handed  to  her,  the  name  she 
had  fully  expected  to  read  was  that  of  Trevor. 

However,  there  was  no  help  for  it:  he  was  in  the  house, 
and  she  must  see  him.  She  rose  with  an  expression  of 
great  annoyance,  and  left  Mrs.  Leslie  feeling  rather  fright- 
ened and  guilty. 

Mrs.  Yernon  assumed  her  coldest,  stiffest  manner  as  she 
entered  the  drawing-room.  Alwyne  himself  looked  to  the 
full  as  haughty. 

She  seated  herself,  and  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

He  began  what  he  had  to  say  at  once  with  the  air  of  a 
person  who,  having  right  on  his  side,  is  not  to  be  intimi- 
dated by  any  show  of  aggressiveness  on  the  part  of  his 
opponent. 

"  You  will  remember,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "  that  last  winter 
at  Nice  I  proposed  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Yernon." 

Miss  Yernon's  mother  made  a  cold  gesture  of  assent. 

"  You  informed  me  that  there  was  an  obstacle  to  my 
suit,  but  you  declined  absolutely  to  inform  me  as  to  the 
nature  of  that  obstacle." 

Mrs.  Yernon  made  another  gesture  of  cold  affirmation. 

"  May  I  ask."  proceeded  Alwyne  with  a  particularly  di& 
agreeable  and  supercilious  inflection  of  voice,  "  whethei 
the  obstacle  which  you  declined  to  state  was  that  your 
daughter  has  a  husband  already  ?" 


164  ONCE  AGAIN. 

For  a  moment  the  room  seemed  to  Mrs.  Yernon  to 
swim.  Her  self-possession  deserted  her.  She  had  been 
absolutely  unprepared  for  such  a  blow  as  this. 

She  was  silent :  she  could  really  not  find  one  word  to 
say.  Then,  partly  recovering  herself,  and  endeavoring  to 
reassume  her  cold,  stiff  manner,  she  said, — 

"  I  must  really  ask  you  to  explain  yourself." 

"  By  all  means,"  returned  Alwyne,  with  alacrity.  "  I 
had  been  dancing  with  Miss  Yernon, — I  beg  her  pardon, 

Mrs. ,  I  do  not  know  her  name, — and  was  sitting  out 

with  her,  when  suddenly  our  conversation  was  broken  in 
upon  by  a  man  who  asked  me  how  I  dared  touch  his  wife, 
and  then  proceeded  to  have  a  fit,  in  which  I  had  the  honor 
of  rendering  him  assistance." 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  rent  by  conflicting  feelings :  the  prin- 
cipal one  was  anger  against  her  daughter.  Bulcie's  un- 
pardonable duplicity  filled  her  with  wrath :  she  would  not 
be  made  the  scapegoat  of  her  folly  and  wickedness  any 
longer :  let  the  consequences  be  on  her  own  head !  Again 
she  was  silent  for  some  seconds. 

"  I  quite  see,  from  the  manner  in  which  you  receive  my 
communication,"  proceeded  Alwyne,  almost  insolently, 
"  that  I  have  discovered  the  real  obstacle.  But  I  must 
confess  one  thing  astonishes  me,  and  that  is  that  both 

Miss  Yernon  or  Mrs.  ,  whatever  her  name  is,  and 

yourself  allowed  me  to  believe  that  I  might  ultimately 
hope.  I  presume  you  were  counting  on  this — this  per- 
son's death  :  he  seems  to  be  in  very  indifferent  health." 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  goaded  beyond  endurance  by  his  tone. 

"  I  have  no  longer  any  wish  to  screen  my  daughter,"  she 
said.  "  Her  folly  is  so  unaccountable  that  I  cannot  pre- 
tend to  extricate  her  from  the  dilemmas  into  which  she 
is  always  getting  herself.  I  shall  tell  you  the  facts  of  the 
case.  If  you  are  a  gentleman," — and  she  flashed  a  look 
upon  him  which  plainly  intimated  that  she  thought  his 
claim  to  that  title  very  doubtful, — "  you  will  consider  my 
confidences  sacred ;  if  not,  you  must,  if  you  choose,  pub- 
lish them  to  the  world." 

And  she  proceeded  to  relate  to  his  astonished  ears  the 
story  which  we  already  know,  together  with  her  views 
and  intentions  for  the  future. 

Indignant  as  Alwyne  was  on  his  own  account,  he  could 


ONCE  AGAIN.  165 

not  help  feeling  for  the  moment  that  the  unfortunate 
mother  had  been  hardly  used,  and  he  forbore  to  express 
his  anger  at  the  deceit  which  had  been  practised  upon 
himself,  and  merely  said  that  it  was  very  strange  and  a 
very  bad  business,  and  that  Mrs.  Vernon  might  rely  upon 
his  keeping  what  she  had  told  him  strictly  secret.  So 
they  parted  on  better  terms  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected,— Alwyne  going  his  way,  stunned  and  perplexed  at 
the  behavior  of  his  adored  Dulcie,  and  Mrs.  Yernon  lean- 
ing back  in  her  chair,  filled  with  wrath  and  bitterness 
against  her  daughter,  and  determined  to  be  rid  of  all  re- 
sponsibility about  her  as  soon  as  possible. 

She  was  still  sitting,  a  prey  to  anger  and  wretchedness, 
when  the  butler  brought  her  in  a  note. 

This  simply  contained  a  request  for  an  interview,  and 
was  signed  "  Noel  Trevor.*' 

Mrs.  Yernon  groaned  in  spirit.  But  the  interview  must 
be  gone  through  with,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  that  the 
best  thing  would  be  to  get  it  over  as  soon  as  possible. 
She  wrote  an  answer  saying  that  Mr.  Trevor  could  call  as 
soon  as  he  felt  disposed,  told  the  butler  she  would  be  at 
home  only  to  Mr.  Trevor  that  afternoon,  sent  a  message 
to  Mrs.  Leslie  that  she  would  not  drive  until  late,  and  then 
endeavored  to  brace  her  nerves  for  the  coming  encounter. 

How  often  she  had  congratulated  herself  upon  having  a 
pretty  daughter !  Now  she  only  lamented  bitterly  that 
she  had  ever  had  a  child  at  all.  She  absolutely  longed  to 
get  rid  of  her  and  all  the  worry  and  trouble  which  she 
involved.  Instead  of  the  wrath  which  she  had  always 
intended  to  pour  out  on  Noel  when  she  should  see  him, 
she  now  prepared  to  meet  him  with  calm  indifference  and 
to  make  preparations  to  hand  over  his  wife  to  him  at  as 
early  a  date  as  decency  permitted.  What  Dulcie  felt  in 
the  matter  was  of  but  small  concern  in  her  eyes. 

Only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  before  Noel  was 
ushered  into  her  presence.  He  looked  dreadfully  haggard 
and  ill ;  and,  although  she  felt  but  scant  pity  for  him,  she 
devoutly  hoped  that  he  was  not  going  to  faint  or  make  a 
scene. 

She  bowed,  without  offering  her  hand,  and  pointed  to  a 
chair. 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  still  ill.     You  had  better 


166  ONCE  AGAIN. 

take  time  to  compose  yourself:  we  are  not  likely  to  be  in- 
terrupted." 

Poor  Noel  sat  down  and  made  a  violent  effort  to  control 
his  agitation. 

"  I  am  quite  prepared  to  hear  all  you  have  to  say,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Vernon,  quietly,  her  one  object  being  to  pre- 
vent him  from  exciting  himself  dangerously  and  causing 
a  catastrophe. 

"  I  feel,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  trembling  tone,  "  that  you 
must  think  very  badly  of  me."  And  he  looked  imploringly 
at  her. 

"  It  does  not  much  matter  what  I  think  of  you,"  she 
answered,  coldly.  "It  will  be  more  to  the  point  to  talk 
about  what  you  propose  for  the  future." 

A  great  load  was  taken  from  the  young  man's  mind  :  no 
opposition  was  going  to  be  offered  to  his  claim,  and  he 
became  calmer  at  once. 

"  You  are  married  to  my  daughter,"  pursued  Mrs.  Ver- 
non. "  Unpleasant  as  the  fact  is,  it  is  not  one  that  can  be 
got  over.  The  only  thing  that  surprises  me  is  that  you 
have  allowed  all  this  time  to  elapse  without  making  any 
sign." 

"  I  have  had  a  dreadful  illness,"  said  Noel,  eagerly. 
"  For  weeks  after  the  accident  I  was  unconscious ;  then  I 
remained  in  an  apathetic  state  for  months,  scarcely  re- 
membering or  caring  to  think  of  anything.  It  is  only 
within  the  last  six  weeks  that  my  health  has  improved  so 
much  that  I  have  been  really  able  to  think  seriously  about 
the  future.  And — and  not  hearing  a  word  from — Dulcie," 
— he  hesitated  over  the  name,  as  though  it  were  a  liberty 
to  pronounce  it, — "  I  was  in  doubt  how  to  approach  her ; 
and — and  I  thought  I  ought  to  get  quite  strong  before — 
before  I " 

He  broke  down,  too  embarrassed  to  know  how  to  con- 
tinue. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  you  were  well  enough 
to  go  to  a  ball  last  night." 

"  I  went  with  thejiope  of  seeing  and  speaking  to  her," 
exclaimed  Noel,  eagerly.  "  I  called  at  the  house  that 
morning,  hoping  to  hear  something  about  her,  and  they 
told  me  they  were  giving  a  dance,  and  pressed  me  to 
go  to  it,  and  I  went.  And  then,"  added  the  poor  lad, 


ORCE  AGAIN.  167 

growing  painfully  agitated,  "when  I  saw  her  with  an- 
other man's  arm  round  her, — another  man's  lips  touching 
hers, — I  think  I  went  mad ;  and  I  don't  remember  what 
happened  afterwards  until  I  was  in  the  cab  driving  home.'1 

And  Noel  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  groaned. 

This  was  another  pleasing  revelation  for  the  mother : 
Alwyne's  arm  round  her  daughter's  waist,  his  lips  touch- 
ing hers.  Decidedly  the  sooner  she  had  a  husband  to  look 
after  her  the  better.  She  felt  almost  sorry  for  Noel. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  chill 
voice.  "  I  can  hardly  believe  my  daughter  capable  of  such 
— such  an  indiscretion.  Do  you  not  think  that  you  were 
perhaps  under  the  influence  of  some  delusion,  as  your  brain 
cannot  be  very  strong  at  present?" 

"  No !  no !"  he  groaned.  "  I  saw  it  all  too  well.  The  in- 
fernal villain  1" 

"  Pray  control  yourself,"  interposed  Mrs.  Yernon,  coldly. 
"  But,  now,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

"  May  I  not  see  her  ?"  cried  Noel,  the  color  flushing  into 
his  pale  face.  "  Oh,  pray,  pray,  do  let  me !  She  did  love 
me — oh,  perhaps  if  I  see  her,  she  will  explain  all !" 

"  You  cannot  see  her,"  returned  Mrs.  Yernon.  "  She 
has  gone  to  Brighton ;  and  perhaps  it  will  be  better  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  even  if  it  is  not  very  palatable :  she  shrinks 
from  the  idea  of  seeing  you." 

"  Oh,  my  God !"  cried  Noel ;  and  he  leaned  his  elbows  on 
the  table,  and  the  tears  trickled  fast  through  his  fingers. 

He  was  very  weak  at  present,  poor  fellow  I 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  You  will  see  her,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  feeling 
just  the  least  bit  sorry  for  him.  "  But,  before  you  can 
consider  her  your  wife,  you  will  have  to  go  through  a 
form  of — of  courtship  and  to  marry  her  in  a  church,  as  I 
would  not  for  one  moment  allow  the  story  of  that  dis- 
graceful affair  at  the  registry  office  to  be  known." 

"I  will  do  anything, — anything!"  cried  Noel. 


168  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  And  you  will  have  to  attend  at  the  court  of  chancery 
and  agree  to  her  money  being  settled  upon  herself." 

Noel  flushed. 

"  You  do  not,  I  hope,  think/'  he  cried,  "  that  any  con- 
sideration of  money  influenced  me  in  the  matter." 

"  Most  people  would  think  so,"  returned  Mrs.  Yernon, 
chillingly. 

"  I  swear,"  cried  the  young  man,  "  that  I  never  knew 
she  had  a  penny;  never  had  a  thought  or  wish  but  for 
herself." 

"  I  believe  you  have  not  any  means  of  supporting  a  girl 
accustomed  to  every  comfort  and  luxury,"  observed  Mrs. 
Yernon. 

Noel  hung  his  head. 

"  I  thought  our  love  would  help  us  to  get  over  that," 
he  murmured. 

"  I  have  frequently  heard  that  theory,"  said  Mrs.  Yer- 
non, contemptuously.  "  But  I  never  knew  it  answer  in 
practice.  My  daughter  has  never  in  her  life  wanted  for 
anything,  and  I  do  not  think  she  is  a  girl  to  bear  poverty 
and  discomfort  cheerfully." 

Noel  bit  his  lip  and  looked  the  picture  of  misery. 

"  However,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  when  she  is  of 
age  she  will  have  a  thousand  a  year,  and,  meantime,  you 
will  have  to  manage  as  best  you  can.  I  presume  you 
intend  to  join  your  regiment  in  India  ?" 

"  I  have  not  communicated  with  my  colonel  yet,"  an- 
swered Noel :  "  the  doctor  did  not  think  me  quite  fit  for 
duty.  I  suppose  as  I  did  not  go  out  with  the  regiment  I 
shall  have  to  join  at  the  depot  first,  unless  I  can  get  sent 
out  with  a  draft." 

"  I  should  think  you  had  better  go  to  India,  if  possible," 
aaid  Mrs.  Yernon,  who,  after  all  that  she  had  gone  through 
with  Dulcie,  felt  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  her 
entirely. 

"  I  should  like  it  best,"  exclaimed  Noel,  brightening ; 
"and — she — seemed  quite  willing  in  the  winter.  When 
may  I  see  her  ?" 

"  When  she  returns  from  Brighton,  in  a  day  or  two.  If 
you  leave  me  your  address,  I  will  let  you  know  when  to 
call." 

Noel  felt  that  his  mother-in-law  was  behaving  much 


ONCE  AGAIN.  169 

better  than  he  could  have  expected.  He  had  a  good 
heart,  and  was  smitten  with  remorse  at  the  thought  of 
the  pain  and  grief  he  must  have  caused  her. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  diffidently,  "  that  you  must  have 
rather  a  bad  opinion  of  me.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me 
for  the  trouble  I  have  caused  you." 

The  remembrance  of  her  wrongs  rose  forcibly  in  the 
mother's  breast,  and  she  said,  with  a  burst  of  anger, — 

"  Until  she  met  you,  Dulcie  had  never  given  me  a 
moment's  anxiety.  She  was  my  one  hope  and  comfort  in 
life.  I  looked  forward  to  her  making  a  good  marriage, — 
to  seeing  her  happy  and  well  provided  for.  You  have 
wrecked  all  my  hopes.  You  taught  her  to  deceive  me ; 
you  inflicted  on  me  the  severest  blow  I  ever  had  in  my 
life :  take  care  that  your  sin  does  not  recoil  on  your  own 
head,  and  that  she  does  not  deceive  you !  I  cannot 
unmarry  you :  all  I  now  wish  is  to  see  and  hear  as  little 
of  both  of  you  in  the  future  as  possible." 

Noel  was  crushed :  he  had  no  answer  to  make,  and  rose, 
looking  very  humble  and  crestfallen,  to  take  leave.  He 
was  even  forgetting,  in  his  embarrassment,  to  give  his 
address. 

"  Where  are  you  to  be  found  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Yernon, 
stiffly ;  and  he  wrote  his  address  on  a  card  with  a  trem- 
bling hand,  and  then,  bowing,  left  the  room,  as  his  hostess 
did  not  attempt  to  proffer  her  hand. 

When  he  had  reached  home,  and  had  leisure  to  think, 
he  was  assailed  by  all  manner  of  painful  doubts.  Dulcie, 
his  darling,  his  dear  sweet  little  wife,  as  he  had  thought 
of  her  over  and  over  again,  shrank  from  him, — had  gone 
away  to  avoid  him  !  Did  she  care  for  that  other  man  in 
whose  embrace — curse  him ! — he  had  seen  her  ?  His  blood 
boiled  at  the  recollection.  Then  Mrs.  Yernon's  words  came 
back  to  him ; 

"  Take  care  that  she  does  not  deceive  you !" 

He  had  imagined  that  her  silence  since  the  accident  had 
been  the  result  of  fear  of  her  mother ;  he  had  felt  sure 
that  she  would  be  as  happy  at  being  restored  to  him, 
though  that  was  hardly  possible,  as  he  would  be  at  finding 
her  once  again.  He  had  never  realized  the  possibility  of 
another  man  stepping  in  between  them. 

He  felt  that  he  must  see  her, — must  know  the  truth 
H  15 


170  ONCE  AGAIN. 

from  her  own  lips  ;  and  he  resolved  to  go  to  Brighton  that 
very  evening  and  endeavor  to  find  her. 

Although  he  and  Alwyne  went  down  in  the  same  train 
on  the  same  quest,  neither  happened  to  come  across  nor 
to  guess  at  the  other's  vicinity.  For  Mrs.  Yernon  had 
also  mentioned  to  Alwyne  that  her  daughter  had  gone  to 
her  aunt  in  Brighton,  little  imagining  that  now  he  knew 
she  had  a  husband  the  young  man  would  dream  of  follow- 
ing her,  or  of  attempting  to  see  her  again.  But  Alwyne, 
after  his  first  ebullition  of  wrath,  returned  afresh  to  his 
tenderness  for  Dulcie,  and,  feeling  sure  that  she  was  in  re- 
ality devoted  to  him  and  indifferent  to  his  rival,  all  sorts 
of  wild  projects  of  carrying  her  off  seethed  in  his  mind, 
though  he  pretended  to  himself  that  he  only  intended  to 
reproach  her  and  bid  her  farewell  forever. 

Noel  spent  the  morning  after  his  arrival  at  Brighton  in 
pursuit  of  his  wife.  He  had  to  keep  reminding  himself 
that  she  was  his  wife,  his  lawful  wife ;  for  the  most  dis- 
tressing doubts  of  her  love  harassed  his  brain.  It  was  a 
fine  morning,  and  she  was  sure  to  be  out  somewhere :  at 
Brighton  people  never  stay  in-doors.  He  walked  along 
the  "King's  Koad,  the  Esplanade,  went  on  the  West  Pier, 
scanning  every  face  eagerly.  Then  he  took  a  victoria, 
and,  bidding  the  man  drive  slowly,  went  up  to  Kemp  Town. 
And  when  he  very  nearly  reached  the  end,  he  caught 
sight  of  a  pretty  figure  in  a  neat,  tailor-made  dress,  saun- 
tering along  listlessly,  and  his  heart  gave  a  great  bound  as 
he  recognized  Mrs.  Noel  Trevor.  He  stopped  the  carriage, 
paid  the  driver,  and  walked  slowly  after  her,  so  agitated 
and  trembling  that  he  was  forced  to  stop  for  a  moment 
and  support  himself  by  the  wooden  rail. 

Dulcie  took  a  seat  in  one  of  the  embrasures  and  looked 
out  seaward.  There  was  no  one  near,  except  a  nurse-girl 
lazily  pushing  a  perambulator,  and  Noel  waited  until  she 
was  out  of  earshot  before  he  approached. 

Then  he  came  close  up  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  Dulcie !" 

The  girl  gave  a  little  gasp  of  terror  and  looked  at  him 
with  affrighted  eyes.  He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  she 
started  up,  as  if  for  fright. 

"For  God's  sake!"  cried  poor  Noel,  "  don't  look  at  me 
like  that!" 


ONCE  AGAIN.  171 

And  he  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm,  and  trembled 
violently,  half  from  emotion,  half  from  weakness. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  ?"  ho  went  on.  u  Don't  you  care 
for  me  any  longer  ?" 

A  shrinking  horror  of  him  crept  through  Dulcie's  veins. 
She  remained  motionless,  speechless,  looking  at  him  with 
cold  distaste.  How  had  she  ever  cared  for  him  ?  How 
inferior  he  was  in  every  way  to  Alwyne!  and  now  he 
looked  so  shrunk  and  ill  and  haggard,  he  was  almost  re- 
pulsive to  her.  She  felt  no  pity  for  his  distress, — nothing 
but  repugnance.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  whilst  ho 
awaited  for  some  answer  to  his  impassioned  words,  but 
none  came :  she  was  thinking  how  she  could  get  away 
from  him. 

"  Dulcie,"  he  said  again,  imploringly,  "  after  all  I  have 
suffered,  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  ?  Don't  you  care 
for  me  any  longer  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  remorselessly.  "  I  do  not  care  for 
you.  You  got  some  bad  influence  over  me  and  persuaded 
me  to  deceive  my  mother.  I  was  so  young,  I  did  not 
know  any  better.  It  was  very  wicked  and  cruel  of  you." 

Great  heaven !  this  was  his  reception,  after  all  his 
tender  dreams  of  his  darling  wife  and  of  their  meeting 
and  reunion ! 

"  What  has  changed  you  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  hollow,  miser- 
able voice.  "  You  did  care  for  me."  Then,  with  sudden 
passion,  drawing  near  to  her,  "  Oh,  my  darling,  how  can 
you  be  so  cruel  to  me  ?" 

"  Do  not  touch  me !"  she  cried,  crouching  into  the 
corner  of  the  seat ;  "  do  not  come  near  me !" 

A  wild  feeling  of  jealousy  surged  through  Noel's  heart 
as  he  remembered  the  scene  at  the  ball. 

"  You  could  bear  another  man  to  touch  you, — to  put  his 
arm  round  you, — to  kiss  your  lips !"  he  cried,  violently. 
"  My  (rod !  why  had  I  not  strength  to  kill  him  ?  But  I 
will  hunt  him  down !  I  will " 

He  stopped  suddenly :  a  horrible  faintness  was  creeping 
over  him:  he  felt  that  he  must  control  himself  or  he 
would  swoon  or  die. 

He  leaned  back  for  a  moment,  gasping,  so  pale  and  hag- 
gard that  Dulcie  was  terrified. 

She  remained  speechless  in  her  crouching  posture,  and 


172  ONCE  AGAIN. 

after  a  few  moments  Noel  was  able  to  speak  with  more 
self-command. 

"  I  am  not  very  strong  yet,"  he  said,  and  then  added, 
with  a  tremulous  yearning  in  his  voice, — 

"  Why  do  you  look  like  that  ?  Why  should  you  be 
afraid  of  me  ?  Do  I  not  love  you  better  than  anything  in 
th3  world?" 

But  his  words  of  tenderness  were  hateful  to  Dulcie. 
She  had  not  a  grain  of  either  love  or  pity  for  him.  Sho 
said  obstinately  to  herself  that  he  had  entrapped  and  de- 
ceived her.  He  was  the  obstacle  and  stumbling-block  in 
the  way  of  her  happiness.  She  even  had  a  shadowy  idea 
that  if  he  would  give  her  up  she  might  still  be  happy 
with  Alwyne. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  your  loving  me?"  she  said,  looking 
away  at  the  sea.  "  I  do  not  love  you ;  I  never  shall.  If 
you  really  cared  for  me,  you  would  go  away,  and  give  me 
a  chance  of  being  happy." 

"  With  him  ?"  asked  Noel,  in  a  cold,  bitter  voice.  "  You 
do  not  seem  to  realize  that  you  are  my  wife ;  that  I  have 
the  right  to  claim  you  now,  this  moment ;  that  I  can,  if  I 
choose,  take  you  away  with  me  here  and  now,  and  that 
no  one  can  stop  me." 

"  I  will  not  go  with  you,"  cried  Dulcie.  "  I  would 
rather  throw  myself  into  the  sea.  You  entrapped  and 
cheated  me  into  marrying  you:  you  only  wanted  my 
money.  And  now,  if  it  were  not  for  you,  I  could  marry 
a  man  whom  T  love,  and  who  is  rich,  and  whom  mamma 
would  be  only  too  glad  for  me  to  marry.  I  will  never, 
never  be  your  wife.  I  hate  you !" 

Fear  and  dislike  of  him  had  worked  the  girl  up  almost 
to  frenzy.  She  looked  at  him  with  fierce  defiance.  She 
seemed  capable  of  throwing  herself  into  the  sea  to  escape 
him. 

Noel  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  slowly 
turned  his  eyes  seaward.  The  bitterness  of  death  seemed 
to  creep  over  him :  love,  youth,  life,  wrestled  in  a  dying 
agony  on  his  heart.  It  was  engulfed  as  though  all  those 
shining,  sunlit  waves  had  gone  over  it  and  stifled  every 
atom  of  hope  and  joy  in  the  cruel  sands  below. 

Morning  after  morning,  as  life  and  strength  had  come 
slowly  back  to  him,  he  had  thought  and  dreamed  of  this 


ONCE  AGAIN.  173 

fair,  pretty  face ;  but  in  his  visions  there  was  a  tender 
love-light  in  the  eyes,  happy  smiles  dimpled  the  mouth, 
and  he  had  indulged  in  the  most  blissful  anticipations  of 
their  meeting, — of  her  joy  at  his  recovery, — of  the  blessed 
future  that  was  to  atone  for  all  the  anguish  he  had  gone 
through.  Was  this  pale  girl,  with  hatred  in  her  looks, 
and  wild  words  of  anger  and  defiance  on  her  lips,  the 
cherished  darling  of  his  dreams  and  thoughts  ?  or  was 
this  scene  some  wild  fantasy  of  his  still  distraught  brain? 
No,  it  was  all  too  true.  He  was  wide  awake.  Dulcie  was 
beside  him.  Whilst  he  lay  battling  with  death,  another 
man  had  come  and  stolen  her  from  him,  even  as  he  had 
stolen  her  from  her  mother.  His  own  guilt  was  borne  in 
upon  him  with  cruel  force. 

And  now  she  hated  him.  Gracious  heaven !  she  had 
taunted  him  with  having  sought  her  for  her  money ;  she 
had  sworn  that,  sooner  than  be  his,  she  would  throw  her- 
self into  the  sea.  Oh,  God !  at  that  moment  how  he 
wished  that  he  was  lying  under  those  glittering  waves, 
with  his  darling  locked  in  his  arms, — his  darling  of  other 
days ;  not  this  frightened,  angry,  unloving  woman  beside 
him.  The  future  seemed  to  grow  clear  to  him  as  he  sat 
there,  his  heart  full  of  deadly  despair :  he  must  go  away 
to  India,  and  by  some  means  or  other  set  her  free.  Would 
he  force  her  to  unwilling  bonds  ?  What  joy  or  pleasure 
could  he  have  of  her,  since  she  hated  him  ? 

He  sat  motionless,  his  eyes  seeming  to  gaze  at  the  rest- 
less waters,  patched  with  blue  and  purple  and  pale  green, 
with  here  and  there  a  tiny  fleck  of  foam  on  the  crest  of  a 
wavelet. 

Dulcie  watched  him  with  bated  breath  at  first,  and  then, 
as  he  made  no  sign  or  movement,  she  began  to  speculate 
upon  the  possibility  of  getting  away  from  him.  Suddenly, 
as  he  seemed  lost  to  consciousness,  she  darted  up  and  fled 
away.  JSToel  did  not  move,  did  not  even  turn  to  glance 
after  her;  he  had  looked  his  last  upon  her:  this  fair  girl 
whom  he  had  loved  so  tenderly,  upon  whom  all  his  hopes 
had  centred,  was  to  be  no  more  to  him  henceforth  for- 
ever. 

He  did  not  know  clearly  what  he  meant  to  do,  only 
that  he  would  go  far  away  from  her  and  never  trouble  her 
more :  he  would  get  out  to  his  regiment  as  soon  as  pos- 

15* 


174  ONCE  AGAIN. 

sible,  and  when  the  wide  seas  were  between  them  she,  at 
all  events,  would  rejoice. 

Meantime,  Dulcie,  with  a  beating  heart,  gained  her 
aunt's  house,  and  flew  to  her  room  to  compose  her  agitated 
feelings  and  features  before  going  down  to  lunch. 

Mrs.  John  Yernon  was  a  stout,  comfortable  lady,  by  no 
means  of  an  inquisitive  or  suspicious  turn  of  mind,  and 
too  much  absorbed  in  her  pugs  and  birds  to  take  much 
interest  in  her  own  species.  She  observed  nothing  un- 
usual in  Dulcie's  manner,  and  never  dreamed,  simple- 
minded  lady,  of  the  very  dramatic  circumstances  in  which 
her  niece  was  placed. 

Every  day.  winter  and  summer,  if  the  weather  was  at 
all  passable,  Mrs.  John  Yernon  took  her  drive  with  her 
pugs.  She  invited  Dulcie  to  accompany  her  this  after- 
noon, but  Dulcie  excused  herself,  and  her  aunt  did  not 
press  the  matter :  the  pugs  would  be  more  comfortable 
and  less  cramped. 

The  carriage  came  round,  with  its  fat  horses  and  sleek 
coachman,  the  perfect  type  of  a  wealthy  widow's  equipage, 
and  Dulcie  saw  aunt  and  pets  depart.  She  remained  for 
some  time  at  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  sea,  think- 
ing to  herself  that  she  was  the  most  unfortunate  girl  in 
the  world,  and  wondering  what  the  end  of  all  this  dread- 
ful business  was  to  be.  As  she  sat  there,  the  sea  faded 
from  her  eyes ;  the  sound  of  the  waves  ceased  from  her 
ears :  she  was  back  in  the  bower  at  the  ball,  with  Alwyne's 
arm  round  her,  his  voice  breathing  sweet  words  which 
troubled  her  brain  and  senses. 

She  started  as  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  the  butler, 
with  a  beaming  face,  announce'd  "  Mr.  Temple." 

He  was  an  old  servant,  and  of  a  benevolent  disposition : 
he  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  why  Miss  Dulcie  had  declined 
to  drive,  and  thought  he  was  indeed  doing  something  ex- 
tremely pleasing  to  her  by  ushering  in  this  handsome 
young  gentleman. 

Alwyne  had  looked  in  a  Brighton  directory,  and,  find- 
ing the  name  of  Mrs.  John  Yernon,  had  concluded  she 
must  be  the  aunt  whom  Dulcie  was  visiting.  He  had  no 
idea  of  what  he  meant  to  say  if  he  saw  her ;  he  did  not 
know  that  he  would  even  see  her,  much  less  see  her  alone ; 
and  when  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  her  he  was 


ONCE  AGAIN.  175 

almost  as  much  embarrassed  as  she  was.  Both  com- 
manded themselves  sufficiently  ere  the  door  closed  on  the 
butler  to  exchange  the  ordinary,  commonplace  greeting 
in  the  ordinary  manner,  but  after  that  there  was  a  pause. 
Dulcie  stood  looking  down,  Alwyne  went  to  the  window. 
Two  feelings  were  struggling  in  him,  delight  at  seeing  his 
beloved  again,  and  an  aggrieved  sense  that  he  had  been 
badly  used.  The  latter  obtaining  the  mastery,  he  turned, 
and  coming  towards  her,  said,  in  a  reproachful  tone, — 

u  Why  did  you  deceive  me  ?" 

Dulcie  proceeded  to  defend  herself.  Her  nature  was 
deficient  in  generosity  and  in  a  sense  of  justice:  like  all 
weak  persons,  she  was  wont  to  defend  herself  at  the  ex- 
pense of  some  one  else.  On  this  occasion,  poor  Noel, 
against  whom  her  mind  was  entirely  poisoned,  was  the 
scapegoat.  She  depicted  him  as  a  villain  and  seducer  of 
the  deepest  dye ;  she  proved  clearly  to  Alwyne's  thirsting 
ears  how  entirely  innocent  she  had  been  throughout, — an 
unhappy  dupe  in  the  hands  of  a  designing  man.  And 
Dulcie  related  with  triumph  the  interview  of  the  morning 
in  which  she  had  poured  her  hatred  and  contempt  upon 
him, — described  the  scene  with  glistening  eyes  and  raised 
voice,  as  though  she  had  been  some  brave  and  virtuous 
heroine  bearding  an  unscrupulous  villain. 

Alwyne  forgot  the  wrong  this  fair  creature  had  done 
him  as  he  sat  listening  to  her,  drinking  in  with  rapture 
the  story  of  the  discomfiture  of  his  rival,  and  filled  with  a 
sort  of  heroic  ardor  of  championship  and  a  great  but 
vague  idea  that  he  was  going  to  be  her  deliverer,  though 
at  the  present  moment  he  could  not  quite  see  how. 

"  We  must  do  something  to  rid  you  of  this  ruffian !"  ho 
said,  excitedly,  getting  up  and  pacing  the  room. 

"  I  will  be  grateful  to  you  forever,"  cried  Dulcie.  "  Oh, 
you  don't  know  how  he  frightened  me  this  morning  with 
his  violence.  He  said  I  was  his  wife  and  he  could  take 
me  away  then  and  there  if  he  chose  and  no  one  could 
hinder  him !" 

Alwyne  swore  under  his  breath.  This  was  indeed  an 
awful  contingency.  No  man,  he  said,  hotly,  could  be 
blackguard  enough  to  force  a  woman  who  hated  him  to 
live  with  him. 

"  I  will  kill  myself  first !"  cried  Dulcie,  excitedly. 


176  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  No,  darling !"  replied  Alwyne,  soothingly :  "  you  must 
not  talk  like  that.  I  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  free 
vou  from  him.  Surely  there  must  be  a  way  out  of  it.  I 
believe  myself  it  was  a  bogus  marriage.  But  remember 
one  thing :  if  he  should  attempt  to  carry  you  off  by  force, 
you  must  escape  and  come  straight  to  me,  and  we  will  see 
then,"  cried  Alwyne,  looking  very  handsome  and  deter- 
mined, "whether  any  mortal  power  can  get  you  away 
from  me !" 

For  a  long  time  ihey  talked  eagerly  over  all  sorts  of 
possibilities  and  contingencies.  Alwyne  declared  that  he 
would  go  up  to  London  and  consult  his  solicitor,  and  be- 
tween them  they  would  assuredly  find  some  means  to  free 
her  from  this  hateful  bond.  He  talked  both  himself  and 
Dulcie  into  quite  a  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  and  when  he 
took  leave  of  her,  both  their  hearts  beat  high  with  hope. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

MRS.  YERNON,  after  her  two  interviews,  was  in  a  state 
of  irritation  against  her  daughter  that  she  could  scarcely 
control.  She  recognized  the  fact  that  to  contend  with 
this  seemingly  weak  girl  was  like  buffeting  water.  Now 
she  had  but  one  desire,  and  that  was  to  marry  her  to  Noel ; 
for  to  go  on  living  under  the  same  roof  with  her  on  ami- 
cable terms  was  more  than  Mrs.  Yernon  felt  capable  of. 
She  could  not  watch  and  dog  her  every  step  and  move- 
ment; and  duplicity  now  seemed  like  second  nature  to 
Dulcie.  The  mother  had  not  patience  to  fight  against  the 
weapon  she  so  abhorred  and  despised.  Besides,  Dulcie 
was  Noel's  wife,  and  could  not  be  unmarried :  so  the  sooner 
he  carried  off  his  prize  the  better.  And  in  her  heart  Mrs. 
Yernon  bitterly  wished  him  joy  of  her. 

After  a  great  deal  of  reflection,  she  decided  to  go  down 
the  next  day  to  Brighton  and  bring  Dulcie  back.  She  did 
not  intend  to  have  any  discussion  with  her  if  it  could  be 
avoided,  but  as  soon  as  convenient  after  their  return  she 
would  send  for  Noel,  bring  the  young  couple  face  to  face, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  177 

and  let  them  settle  matters  themselves.  As  for  Dulcie's 
reluctance,  she  cared  not  one  straw :  she  had  married  him, 
and  must  abide  by  the  consequences. 

The  day  after  her  two  interviews,  Mrs.  Yernon  betook 
herself  to  Brighton  by  the  one-fifty  train,  which  should 
have  arrived  at  three-fifteen,  but  was  twenty  minutes  late. 
Her  sister-in-law  would  think  it  odd  her  coming  to  fetch 
Dulcie  after  a  stay  of  twenty- four  hours ;  but  there  were 
much  graver  considerations  involved  than  Mrs.  John 
Vernon's  surprise. 

The  fl}r  which  conveyed  her  from  the  station  had  ar- 
rived within  half  a  dozen  doors  of  her  sister-in-law's  house, 
when  a  young  man  came  running  down  the  steps  with  an 
excited  and  triumphant  expression  of  countenance,  and 
Mrs.  Yernon  was  almost  transfixed  with  anger  and  aston- 
ishment as  she  recognized  Alwyne.  He  did  not  see  her, 
but  went  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

"  What  can  I  do  with  such  a  creature !"  cried  the  dis- 
tracted mother,  between  her  teeth,  feeling  a  violent  desire 
to  fly  at  and  beat  this  hopelessly  good-for-nothing  daugh- 
ter of  hers. 

She  had  to  control  herself  by  an  immense  effort  to  meet 
the  smiling  butler,  an  old  servant  in  the  family,  with  an 
answering  smile,  to  inquire  after  Mrs.  John,  and  whether 
Miss  Dulcie  was  at  home. 

And  then  she  was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
the  dear  girl  was  nursing  all  sorts  of  charming  dreams. 

The  mother  could  scarcely  control  her  voice  to  speak. 
She  did  not  intend  to  have  any  discussion  now :  if  once 
she  let  loose  the  flood-gates  of  her  wrath,  she  felt  that  she 
would  hardly  be  answerable  for  her  words  or  actions.  She 
glacially  bade  Dulcie  go  at  once  and  see  to  her  things 
being  packed,  as  they  were  to  return  to  London  by  the 
five-o'clock  train.  Dulcie  divined  that  some  dreadful 
catastrophe  had  happened,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  es- 
cape from  the  room  and  assist  her  aunt's  maid,  who  plied 
her  with  many  expressions  of  wonder  and  regret  at  her 
short  stay,  to  pack.  Mrs.  Yernon  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room,  staring  at  the  sea,  with  a  horrible  weight  at  her 
heart, — a  weight  of  anger  and  despair.  She  was  a  clever 
woman :  as  a  rule,  she  had  no  difficulty  in  circumventing 
people,  and  making  those  at  all  events  over  whom  she  had 


178  ONCE  AGAIN. 

any  authority  do  what  she  pleased ;  but  this  frail,  foolish 
girl  utterly  baffled  her  and  set  her  plans  at  naught.  What 
had  Alwyne  been  doing  there  ?  She,  of  course,  imagined 
that  Dulcie  had  informed  him  of  her  whereabouts.  From 
the  satisfied  expression  of  his  face,  the  interview  with 
Dulcie  must  have  been  a  pleasing  one :  possibly  she  had 
consented  to  fly  with  him. 

The  unhappy  mother  determined  to  send  for  Noel  tho 
very  next  morning  and  to  fix  the  earliest  date  possible  for 
the  marriage  in  church:  it  would  not  have  required  much 
persuasion  on  Noel's  part  now  to  get  her  consent  to  carry 
off  Dulcie  with  no  further  ceremony  than  the  one  which 
had  already  been  performed  in  the  registry-office. 

As  good  fortune  would  have  it,  Mrs.  John  did  not  return 
from  her  drive  before  it  was  time  for  her  guests  to  leave : 
so,  bidding  the  butler  make  her  excuses,  and  promising  to 
write,  Mrs.  Vernon  carried  her  daughter  oif  to  London. 

She  did  not  speak  one  word  during  the  journey :  indeed, 
words  would  have  choked  her.  It  was  no  use  asking  for 
explanations :  she  would  only  be  met  by  falsehood.  At 
dinner,  and  during  the  evening,  not  one  word  was  ex- 
changed between  mother  and  daughter:  each  talked  in 
turn  to  Mrs.  Leslie ;  and  she,  though  devoured  by  curiosity 
to  know  what  had  happened,  feigned  not  to  remark  any- 
thing unusual,  and  chatted  away  gayly.  She  knew  it  was 
hopeless  to  expect  a  communication  from  Mrs.  Yernon,  but 
she  hoped  to  extract  some  explanation  from  gentle  and 
pliable  Dulcie.  When  they  were  alone  for  a  moment  she 
cried, — 

"My  dear  child,  what  is  all  this  terrible  mystery 
about  ?" 

But  Dulcie,  with  an  uneasy  smile,  declared  that  it  was 
nothing, — nothing  at  all, — and  would  not  be  beguiled  into 
a  word  of  confidence.  She  distrusted  every  one  but 
Al  wyne. 

As  for  Morton,  she  was  on  tenter-hooks,  and  did  not  fail 
to  ask  her  young  lady  point-blank  what  was  going  on,  and 
why  Mr.  Trevor  and  Mr.  Temple  had  both  been  to  see  her 
mamma ;  but  Dulcie  obstinately  refused  to  answer  her,  and 
Morton  was  in  high  dudgeon. 

After  dinner  Mrs.  Yernon  wrote  a  note  to  Noel  request- 
ing him  to  call  the  following  morning.  His  first  impulse 


ONCE  AGAIN.  179 

on  reading  it  was  to  excuse  himself;  but  on  second  thoughts 
he  decided  that  he  owed  it  to  Mrs.  Yernon  to  explain  why 
he  was  going  away  without  claiming  his  wife,  lest  she 
should  conceive  an  unjust  idea  of  him  and  his  motives. 
He  would  not  have  risked  seeing  Dulcie  again,  but  he  be- 
lieved her  to  be  at  Brighton,  which  he  had  left  almost  im- 
mediately after  their  painful  interview. 

Mrs.  Yernon  had  given  private  orders  to  the  butler  that 
when  Mr.  Trevor  arrived  he  was  to  be  ushered  into  the 
drawing-room  and  she  was  to  be  told  that  some  one  wished 
to  see  her :  no  name  was  to  be  mentioned  before  the  other 
ladies.  She  anticipated  the  possibility  of  Dulcie's  flying 
to  her  room  and  locking  herself  in  if  she  became  aware 
that  Noel  was  in  the  house. 

When  Noel  arrived  and  Mrs.  Yernon  went  to  the  draw- 
ing-room to  receive  him,  her  feelings  were  of  quite  a  dif- 
ferent nature  from  any  she  could  have  entertained  for  him 
a  week  previously.  She  rather  wished  to  propitiate  him : 
instead  of  the  anger  and  contempt  she  had  felt  for  him, 
she  was  now  disposed  to  regard  him  with  a  certain  amount 
of  respect,  and  was  almost  afraid  of  his  learning  her 
daughter's  shortcomings,  lest  he  should  be  less  ready  to 
accept  the  serious  responsibility  of  taking  charge  of  her. 

To-day,  as  she  advanced  to  meet  him,  her  manner  was 
by  many  degrees  more  cordial :  she  even  offered  him  her 
hand.  She  was  shocked  to  see  how  ill  he  looked  and  to 
remark  the  melancholy  written  in  every  line  of  his  wan 
face.  She  was  even  a  little  sorry  for  him.  She  did  not 
like  the  hopeless  expression  that  he  wore :  it  augured  ill 
for  her  plans  and  wishes.  But  she  feigned  not  to  remark 
anything,  and  said,  in  a  cheerful  voice, — 

"  I  think  we  had  better  settle  about  your  marriage  as 
soon  as  possible.  This  state  of  things  is  very  unsatis- 
factory." 

If  she  expected  a  brightening  of  Noel's  face  and  au 
ardent  assent  to  her  words,  she  must  have  been  disap- 
pointed. If  possible,  a  deeper  gloom  spread  itself  over 
his  face,  and  he  looked  persistently  at  the  carpet. 

"  You  do  not  seem  very  anxious,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Yer- 
non, a  flush  rising  to  her  face  and  a  considerable  tartness 
lending  itself  to  her  voice. 

lie  looked  up  at  her. 


180  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  have  seen — your  daughter  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Seen  her?  How?  When?  Where?"  cried  Mrs. 
Yernon. 

"  Yesterday  morning,  at  Brighton.  I  went  there  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  her,  and  I  met  her  out  walking,  and — 
and " 

"And  what?" 

"  She  said" — and  poor  Noel's  voice  faltered — "that  she 
hated  me  and  would  rather  kill  herself  than  be  my  wife. 
And,  oh,  my  God!"  cried  the  poor  lad,  "she  said  she  loved 
him!" 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  tears  oozed  through 
his  thin  fingers.  Mrs.  Yernon  wondered  to  herself  how 
much  exasperation  it  was  possible  to  endure  without 
apoplexy  supervening.  She  did  not  believe  that,  in  the 
record  of  mothers  and  daughters,  mother  had  ever  been 
so  tried  as  she.  Was  this  girl  utterly  devoid  of  all  sense 
— of  all  decency? 

Her  manner  to  Noel  softened  considerably.  She  almost 
felt  like  a  shop  woman  offering  damaged  goods  which  she 
was  anxious  to  get  rid  of. 

"  But,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  that  is  nonsense.  You 
are  her  husband,  and  she  must  accept  the  fate  she  herself 
chose.  Nothing  can  annul  the  marriage,  and  she  must 
make  the  best  of  it :  indeed,  I  hope,  when  she  sees  more 
of  you,  her  affection  will  return,  and  that  all  will  be 
well!" 

She  was  trying  to  bolster  up  her  own  hopes  as  well  as 
Noel's,  but  all  the  time  a  disagreeable  presentiment  seized 
her  that  neither  he  nor  she  would  be  able  to  cope  with 
Dulcie.  She  almost  regretted  that  he  was  not  somewhat 
of  the  villain  she  had  imagined  him;  for  then  he  would 
have  carried  things  with  a  strong  hand. 

"  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart,"  groaned  Noel,  "  and  she 

did  love  me,  or  else  why "  And  here  he  stopped 

Bhort.  Then,  with  a  sudden  inspiration,  he  looked  up  at 
Mrs.  Yernon,  and  asked,  "  Has  she  known  this  man  long  ? 

Where  did  she  meet  him,  and  when  did ?"  But  he 

could  not  bring  his  voice  to  finish  the  sentence. 

A  half-frightened  recollection  of  her  own  share  in  the 
catastrophe  rushed  through  Mrs.  Yernon's  brain.  She  re- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  181 

membered  that  it  was  she  who  had  given  Dulcie  to  under- 
stand that  her  marriage  was  not  legal,  arid  that  it  was  in 
consequence  of  this  representation  that  the  girl  had  con- 
sidered herself  free  to  accept  Alwyne's  attentions. 

But  for  the  moment  she  felt  it  impossible  to  confess  this 
to  Noel. 

"  We  met  him  at  Nice,"  she  answered,  with  some  hesi- 
tation. "  He  is  the  nephew  of  an  old  school-friend  of 
mine,  with  whom  we  were  travelling." 

"And  this,"  cried  poor  Noel,  "must  have  been  not  a 
month  after  our  marriage  !" 

"  You  must  remember,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Yernon,  "  that  she 
had  heard  nothing  of  you, — that  she  did  not  even  know 
if  the  marriage  was  legal." 

Noel  interrupted  her  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  I  will  never  believe,"  he  cried,  "  that  she  would  have 
doubted  me,  unless  some  one  had  influenced  her  against 
me." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  Mrs.  Yer- 
non was  fighting  a  severe  battle  with  herself.  She  pos- 
sessed in  a  marked  degree  the  truthful  and  honorable  in- 
stincts which,  as  a  rule,  the  sterner  sex  are  exclusively 
credited  with,  but  which  may  yet  be  found  in  many 
women,  whilst  they  are  absent  from  many  men. 

She  abhorred  lying  and  deceit,  and  she  was  naturally  a 
fearless  and  courageous  woman :  indeed,  from  the  inde- 
pendent life  she  had  so  long  led,  she  had  been  unaccus- 
tomed to  fear  anything  or  any  one.  She  was  proud,  and 
nothing  could  gall  her  so  much  as  to  be  proved  to  have 
acted  unworthily.  It  was  less  difficult  to  her  to  confess 
herself  wrong  than  to  bear  to  be  accused  by  another 
person. 

For  a  moment  it  was  a  hard  fight ;  then  the  honorable 
instinct  prevailed. 

"  I  will  be  quite  straightforward  with  you,"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  involuntarily  assumed  a  haughty  accent. 
"  When  my  daughter  returned  home  on  the  day  of  the 
accident,  and  I  learned  the  truth,  I  did  not  for  a  moment 
believe  the  marriage  to  be  binding,  and  I  told  her  so.  And 
when,  later,  I  learned  that  it  was,  I  did  not  undeceive  her, 
thinking  she  might  commit  some  fresh  imprudence.  And, 
besides,"  hesitating,  for  it  was  hardly  a  pleasant  thing  to 

16 


182  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Bay,  •'  you  were  in  such  a  critical  condition  that  it  was  not 
supposed  you  would  recover.  In  which  case,"  with  some 
confusion,  "  there  would  have  been  no  occasion  for  any  one 
to  know  anything  more  of  the  matter." 

Noel  saw  it  all  now,  and,  with  the  impulse  of  a  lover, 
immediately  shifted  the  blame  from  the  shoulders  of  Dulcie 
to  those  of  her  mother.  It  was  clear  to  him  he  had  been 
maligned,  traduced,  blackened  to  his  darling ;  she  had  been 
made  to  doubt  and  hate  him,  to  believe  him  capable  of 
unspeakable  villany. 

After  a  pause  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  righteous  indigna- 
tion,— 

"  Then  it  was  you  who  set  her  against  me  and  paved 
the  way  for  another  man." 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  exceedingly  human,  and  had  a  con- 
siderable temper.  After  making  an  enormous  sacrifice  of 
feeling  to  behave  fairly  and  honorably,  to  be  met  with  this 
accusation,  and  to  see  that  Noel  held  her  responsible  for 
all  that  had  occurred,  was  more  than  she  could  bear,  and 
she  struck  out  sharply  in  return. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  in  the  quiet  voice  which  those  who 
knew  her  best  most  feared,  "  I  could  hardly  imagine  that, 
after  being  so  much  devoted  to  you  and  ready  to  sacrifice 
everything  for  your  sake,  my  daughter  would,  a  couple 
of  months  later,  be  equally  well  disposed  to  receive  the 
attentions  of  another  man.  However,"  changing  her  tone 
abruptly,  "  the  moment  that  I  perceived  what  was  going 
on,  I  told  Dulcie  that  she  was  your  wife,  and  forbade  Mr. 
Temple  to  see  her  again." 

"And  did  you  tell  him  the  truth?"  cried  Noel,  rather  in 
the  tone  of  a  Grand  Inquisitor. 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Vernon,  striking  out  again.  "  I  am 
not  given  to  publishing  disgraceful  family  secrets." 

"  Disgraceful !"  cried  Noel. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Vernon,  calmly,  with  an  unflinch- 
ing regard,  "  disgraceful  /" 

Noel  subsided.  He  knew  he  had  done  wrong,  and  he 
was  not  of  a  temperament  to  brazen  it  out.  His  head 
sank  again,  and  he  resumed  his  scrutiny  of  the  carpet. 

Having  got  the  best  of  him,  Mrs.  Yernon  was  disposed 
to  be  merciful. 

"  Kecriminations,"  she  said,  "  are  never  of  any  use.    Let 


ONCE  AGAIN.  183 

us  be  practical,  and  consider  the  best  way  out  of  the 
dilemma.  I  will  send  for  Dulcie,  and  will  tell  her  in  your 
presence  that  there  is  only  one  thing  for  her  to  do,  which 
is  to  submit  to  the  inevitable." 

"No!  no  1"  cried  Noel.  "  How  can  I  take  her  against 
her  will  ?" 

"  Then  may  I  ask  what  you  propose  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Yernon,  impatiently. 

"  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  out  to  my  regiment  in  India. 
And  then,"  with  a  profound  sigh,  "  I  shall  never  trouble 
her  again." 

This  magnanimous  suggestion  was  very  far  from  meet- 
ing with  Mrs.  Yernon's  approval. 

"A  delightful  position,  truly,  for  my  daughter!"  she 
exclaimed.  "  A  wife  without  a  husband !  No !  I  will  not 
bear  the  responsibility  of  her,  and  I  shall  not  permit  you 
to  shirk  yours.  If  you  go  to  India,  she  must  accompany 
you." 

"  Is  it  my  fault  ?"  cried  Noel,  in  accents  of  deepest  re- 
proach. "  Would  I  not  give  my  right  hand  to  win  back 
the  affection  she  felt  for  me  last  winter  ?  I  love  her  with 
all  my  soul :  do  you  think  I  want  to  go  away  and  leave 
her — to  him  ?" 

"  If  you  leave  her,  it  probably  will  be  to  him,"  replied 
Mrs.  Yernon,  tartly.  "  Pray,  Mr.  Trevor,  be  a  man  :  make 
use  of  your  authority :  it  is  perfectly  impossible  for  things 
to  go  on  in  this  way.  I  shall  now  send  for  Dulcie.  You 
must  insist  on  your  rights,  and  I  shall  support  you."  Be- 
fore he  could  say  a  word,  she  had  rung  the  bell. 

"Ask  Miss  Dulcie  to  come  to  me  for  a  moment/*  she 
said  blandly  to  the  butler. 

A  minute  later,  Dulcie,  all  unsuspecting,  obeyed  the 
summons. 

When  she  caught  sight  of  Noel,  she  turned  ashen  pale 
and  trembled  in  every  limb.  He  rose  to  meet  her,  but  she 
did  not  even  greet  him  by  so  much  as  a  word.  He  threw 
an  agonized  glance  at  her  mother  which  said  plainly, 
"  You  see." 

"  Dulcie,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  gently,  "  I  have  sent  for 
you  that  we  may  talk  matters  over.  Last  winter,  of  your 
own  free  will  and  consent,  you  walked  out  of  my  house  to 
marry  Mr.  Trevor.  By  the  consequences  of  that  step  you 


184  ONCE  AGAIN. 

must  abide.  You  are  his  wife,  and  nothing  can  alter  the 
fact.  The  law  is  on  his  side,  and,  if  he  chooses,  he  can 
compel  you  to  live  with  him ;  and  I  am  not  disposed  to 
deny  his  position.  If  you  were  so  much  attached  to  him 
a  few  months  ago,  there  is  surely  no  ground  for  your  al- 
tered feelings  now,  as  he  has  done  nothing  to  wound  or 
offend  you.  Indeed,  the  severe  suffering  he  has  under- 
gone ought  to  give  him  a  greater  claim  on  your  sympathy 
and  affection.  I  hope  that  when  you  have  talked  the 
matter  over  together  you  will  recognize  what  your  duty 
is.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  shall  not  feel  justified  in 
keeping  you  from  your  husband,  and  you  must  not  regard 
this  as  your  home  in  the  future." 

Dulcie  remained  with  downcast  eyes.  She  did  not 
speak  a  word  in  answer,  but  sat  with  a  fixed,  dogged  ex- 
pression in  her  face  which  augured  ill  for  Noel. 

After  waiting  to  give  her  an  opportunity  of  speaking, 
Mrs.  Yernon  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  I  will  leave  you  for  a  little,"  she  said  to  Noel.  "  I 
hope  you  will  be  able  to  persuade  her." 

The  two  young  people,  left  alone  together,  remained 
speechless.  Dulcie  preserved  her  obstinate  expression, 
and  Noel  gazed  wistfully  at  her,  longing  yet  not  daring  to 
approach  her,  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  implore  her  love, 
her  pity,  her  forgiveness  even,  though  he  had  committed 
no  crime  against  her. 

At  last  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice, — 
"  Dulcie,  won't  you  speak  to  me?     You  used  to  love 
me;   and  what  in  heaven's  name  have  I  done  that  you 
should  be  so  changed  ?" 

Still  that  dogged,  obstinate  silence  which  is  more  trying 
than  the  fiercest  invectives  and  recriminations. 

"  Dulcie !"  and  he  moved  diffidently  nearer  to  her,  "won't 
you  speak  to  me  ?" 
Still  silence. 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  dragged  it  away  from 
him. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  at  Brighton,"  she  cried,  roused  at 
last,  "  what  I  felt  for  you  ?  And  yet  you  come  here  again 
to  persecute  and  torment  me,  and  to  set  mamma  more 
against  me  and  make  her  behave  worse  to  me  than  she  has 
done  already !" 


ONCE  AGAIN.  185 

"  I  never  meant  to  have  seen  you  again,"  returned  Noel. 
"  I  was  going  to  India, — I  had  begun  to  make  arrange- 
ments about  it, — but  your  mother  wrote  and  asked  me  to 
come.  I  thought  you  were  still  at  Brighton.  But,  now  I 
am  here,  let  me  plead  with  you  once  again.  You  are  not 
very  happy  at  home  ;  you  and  your  mother  are  not  on 
good  terms :  why — why  will  you  not  come  with  me  ?  Oh, 
darling!  I  will  devote  every  hour  of  my  life  to  making 
you  happy :  I  will  be  your  slave :  you  shall  not  have  a 
wish  ungratified  if  I  can  help  it.  Dulcie,  my  own  wife  I 
won't  you  come  to  me  ?" 

All  the  passion  of  which  he  was  capable  was  expressed 
in  his  voice,  but  she  only  shrank  from  him  with  a  gesture 
of  distaste  and  disgust. 

"  I  hate  you,"  she  said,  cruelly ;  "  and  if  you  take  me 
away  by  force  I  will  kill  myself.  What  pleasure  can  it 
be,"  and  she  began  to  whimper,  "  to  persecute  and  torment 
a  woman  who  does  not  care  for  you  ?  If  I  were  a  man  I 
should  have  too  much  pride." 

"  But  since  you  are  my  wife  ? — since  I  have  the  right  to 
take  you?"  he  answered,  his  voice  hardening  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  a  look  that  frightened  her  coming  into  his 
eyes. 

She  burst  into  sobs. 

"  Then  I  will  kill  myself!"  she  repeated. 

Dulcie  was  the  last  girl  in  the  world  to  carry  out  such 
a  threat, — she  was  far  too  great  a  coward, — but  she 
thought  it  a  good  way  of  intimidating  him. 

He  sat  down  again,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and 
groaned. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  Why  had  he  come  here  to  fight 
the  battle  over  again?  He  had  gone  through  all  this 
misery  yesterday  and  had  made  up  his  mind  about  the 
future,  and  now  he  had  been  compelled  to  a  futile  repeti- 
tion of  his  wretchedness.  Some  men  might  take  pleasure 
in  forcing  themselves  on  a  reluctant  woman :  her  terror 
and  repugnance  might  have  lent  piquancy  to  the  situation 
in  their  eyes. 

But  Noel  was  not  one  of  these. 

16* 


186  ONCE  AGAIN. 


CHAPTEE  XXL 

DULCIE  was  buoying  herself  up  with  the  hopes  which 
Alwyne  had  inspired  in  her.  He  was  going  to  his  lawyer ; 
he  would  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  find  a  way  of  annul- 
ling and  making  void  this  marriage,  and  then  he  would 
marry  her  and  their  life  was  to  be  one  of  ideal  bliss.  "With 
this  thought  firmly  rooted  in  her  head,  Dulce  was  scarcely 
likely  to  turn  anything  but  a  deaf  ear  to  Noel's  pleadings. 
He  was  her  foe ;  Alwyne  her  knight  and  deliverer.  Her 
mother  was  equally  her  enemy,  trying  merely  out  of  spite 
to  force  her  into  the  arms  of  a  man  she  hated.  It  suited 
her  mother's  purpose  now  to  declare  the  marriage  irrevo- 
cable, but  Dulcie  did  not  believe  it. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  her  best  plan  would 
be  to  propitiate  Noel. 

"  Why  should  you  want  to  make  me  miserable  ?"  she 
said,  raising  her  tearful  eyes  to  his  face.  "  It  is  not  my 
fault  that  I  no  longer  care  for  you.  I  suppose  I  did  once, 
but  that  is  all  over  now.  I  was  told  you  had  deceived 
me,  and  that  it  was  not  a  real  marriage,  and  then  I  got 
to  hate  you.  It  is  no  good  blaming  me ;  it  is  not  my 
fault." 

Once  more  the  bitterness  as  of  death  crept  through 
Noel's  heart ;  once  more  he  roused  himself  to  a  supreme 
effort. 

"  Say  no  more !"  he  cried,  hoarsely ;  then,  rising  and 
going  towards  the  door,  "  I  shall  never  trouble  you  again." 
He  paused  a  moment,  as  though  he  would  have  taken 
some  farewell  of  her;  then,  changing  his  mind,  he  went 
out. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Yernon  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room to  see  how  matters  were  progressing.  She  found 
Dulcie  alone,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  sharply,  "  where  is  Mr.  Trevor?" 

"  Gone,"  replied  Dulcie,  with  a  sullen  air. 

"  And  what  have  you  settled?"  inquired  her  mother. 

Dulcie  did  not  answer,  and  it  was  only  after  innumer- 
able questions  that  Mrs.  Vernon  elicited  what  had  hap- 
pened. Then  the  flood-gates  of  her  wrath  were  let  loose, 
and  she  talked  to  Dulcie  in  a  manner  which  succeeded  in 


ONCE  AGAIN.  187 

frightening  that  obstinate  young  lady  She  declared  that 
the  same  ^roof  should  no  longer  cover  them ;  that  if  she 
disgraced  her  she  would  cast  her  off  and  never  see  or  speak 
to  her  again  ;  she  threatened  her  with  all  sorts  of  terrors. 
At  last,  frightened  herself  at  the  violence  of  her  feelings 
and  words,  she  rushed  from  the  room  and  locked  herself 
in  her  own  room,  a  prey  to  the  strongest  emotion  she  had 
ever  felt. 

She  was  no  match  for  this  weak,  obstinate  girl.  What 
was  she  to  do  with  her?  Plan  after  plan  chased  itself 
through  her  mind.  She  thought  of  sending  her  to  some 
school,  where  she  would  be  placed  under  the  strictest 
surveillance,  and  where  she  could  neither  write  to  nor 
receive  letters  from  Alwyne.  Then  she  reflected  that  by 
too  harsh  treatment  she  might  drive  Dulcie  to  the  very 
disgrace  she  so  greatly  feared.  She  resolved  to  consult 
Mr.  Benson,  and  ordered  the  brougham.  Driving  straight 
to  his  chambers,  she  poured  out  the  whole  dreadful  story 
to  him.  He  was  amazed  and  shocked,  and  seriously  con- 
cerned to  see  his  usually  self-possessed  client  a  prey  to 
such  violent  emotion. 

He  was  unable  to  suggest  anything.  If  the  young  man 
himself  would  not  asserf  his  privileges  and  compel  his  wife 
to  live  with  him,  he  thought  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
in  the  matter  but  to  trust  to  time  and  to  the  young  lady's 
coming  to  her  senses.  He  could  not  for  a  moment  enter- 
tain the  shocking  possibility  of  so  well-brought-up  a  girl 
eloping  with  Mr.  Temple  if  she  were  made  cognizant  of 
the  terrible  and  disastrous  consequences  of  such  a  step. 

Excellent  Mr.  Benson,  with  his  calm  judicial  ideas  and 
words,  gave  no  comfort  to  the  distracted  mother  in  her 
present  frame  of  mind,  and  on  leaving  him  she  flung  her- 
self back  in  her  brougham  in  a  state  bordering  between 
intense  irritation  and  despair.  For  once  the  self-contained 
woman  felt  the  absolute  necessity  of  a  confidante,  and  she 
resolved  to  tell  Mrs.  Leslie  the  truth.  On  her  return  she 
sent  at  once  for  her  cousin,  and,  after  first  making  her 
swear  secrecy  upon  the  Bible,  she  proceeded,  to  her  own 
intense  relief,  to  pour  out  the  whole  dreadful  story  to  her 
excited  and  deeply-interested  relative. 

"  I  feel,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon,  in  conclusion,  "  so  exasper- 
ated against  Dulcie  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  go  on 


188  ONCE  AGAIN. 

living  in  the  same  house  with  her, — at  all  events  for  the 
present.  When  I  remember,"  and  unwonted  tears  sprang 
to  her  eyes,  "  how  carefully  I  have  brought  her  up,  how  I 
have  guarded  and  watched  over  her,  it  is  more  than  I  can 
bear  to  think  of  the  disgrace  she  has  brought  upon  me. 
It  must  come  out  sooner  or  later :  I  have  no  doubt  the 
servants  already  know  everything,  for  I  do  not  place  the 
smallest  faith  in  Morton's  discretion  ;  and,  even  if  she  were 
to  be  trusted,  they  must  see  that  something  extraordinary 
is  going  on." 

Mrs.  Leslie  was  a  very  good-natured  woman,  and  felt 
sincerely  sorry  for  her  cousin. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you?"  she  cried, 
eagerly.  "  Shall  I  take  Dulcie  home  with  me  for  a  few 
weeks  ?  I  promise  you  Mr.  Temple  shall  not  get  a  chance 
of  seeing  her." 

Mrs.  Yernon  seized  eagerly  upon  her  offer. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  should  be  most  grateful  to  you.  Anything 
to  get  her  away  from  my  sight  for  the  present.  But  may 
I  really  trust  you  ?"  she  asked,  recollecting  herself.  "  I 
know,  my  dear,  that  you  are  very  good-natured  and  rather 
weak.  If  Dulcie  persuaded  you " 

"  No,  no.  I  assure  you  you  may  trust  me,"  protested 
Mrs.  Leslie,  eagerly.  "  I  will  be  a  perfect  dragon.  When 
shall  we  go  ?  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  I  must  give  them 
a  day  to  prepare.  I  will  telegraph  at  once." 

Dulcie  was  delighted  when  she  heard  that  she  was  to 
be  handed  over  to  Mrs.  Leslie.  She  was  quite  as  anxious 
to  get  away  from  her  mother  as  her  mother  was  to  be 
rid  of  her,  and  in  her  heart  she  felt  sure  that  she  would 
get  her  own  way  with  her  cousin,  and  be  able  to  corre- 
spond with  Alwyne,  if  not  to  see  him. 

Two  days  later  they  were  on  their  way  to  Mrs.  Leslie's 
pretty  little  country-house.  Mother  and  daughter  had 
not  exchanged  a  single  word  in  the  mean  time,  nor  did 
they  even  bid  each  other  good- by.  Mrs.  Yernon's  exas- 
peration was  so  deep  that  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
look  at  or  speak  to  Dulcie,  and  when  she  was  once  fairly 
out  of  the  house  her  mother  felt  as  though  a  great  load 
were  lifted  from  her  heart.  Bitter  indeed  was  it  to  feel 
the  love  and  care  and  kindness  of  so  many  years  requited 
by  defiance  and  hostility,  and  one  can  scarcely  wonder  if 


ONCE  AGAIN.  189 

for  the  time  the  mother's  natural  affection  gave  way  to  a 
feeling  very  nearly  akin  to  dislike. 

Now  it  was  Duicie's  turn  to  tell  her  story  to  Mrs.  Leslie, 
and  that  kindly-disposed  lady  was  a  little  shocked  to  find 
herself  sympathizing  in  turn  with  the  girl  and  looking 
upon  her  somewhat  in  the  light  of  a  heroine  of  romance. 
Not,  she  gave  her  clearly  to  understand,  that  she  meant 
to  allow  any  interviews  with  Mr.  Temple;  besides,  she 
could  not  imagine,  she  said,  that  Dulcie  would  wish  to  do 
anything  so  wrong  as  to  receive  unlawful  and  compro- 
mising attentions.  But  Dulcie  soon  talked  her  into  the 
belief  that  her  marriage  with  Noel  was,  through  Alwyne's 

influence,  speedily  to  be  made  null  and  void.  And  then 

Why,  of  course,  then,  Mrs.  Leslie  assented,  it  would  be  a 
different  matter  altogether. 

The  first  thing  Dulcie  did  was,  unknown  to  her  cousin, 
to  write  and  furnish  Alwyne  with  her  address,  together 
with  the  details  of  her  mother's  violence  and  the  discom- 
fiture of  Noel.  She  was  exceedingly  anxious,  too,  to  hear 
the  result  of  his  visit  to  his  lawyer.  Alwyne,  meantime, 
was  in  a  state  of  great  perplexity  and  distress.  He  had 
driven  with  a  confident  heart  to  his  lawyer's  chambers, 
but  had  issued  thence  crestfallen  and  despairing.  For, 
after  hearing  all  that  Alwyne  could  tell  him,  the  man  of 
law  decided  that  the  marriage  was  legal  and  binding,  in 
spite  of  certain  irregularities,  and  that  Noel  had  only  to 
satisfy  the  court  of  chancery  on  the  subject  of  the  young 
lady's  fortune,  after  which  he  could  carry  her  off  as  soon 
as  he  pleased.  And  then  the  lawyer  gave  him  a  signifi- 
cant hint  about  the  danger  of  tampering  with  a  ward  in 
chancery. 

Alwyne  fumed  and  fretted  himself  nearly  into  a  fever. 
This  self-willed  young  man  could  not  endure  to  be 
thwarted,  and  told  himself  that  he  loved  Dulcie  passion- 
ately, madly,  and  that  without  her  he  could  not  live.  His 
one  desire  now  was  to  see  her ;  so,  when  he  received  her 
letter,  he  wrote  off  by  return  of  post  imploring  her  to 
manage  an  interview  somehow  or  other,  and  promising  to 
tell  her  all  that  he  had  done  in  the  mean  time.  The  all 
did  not  amount  to  much,  unless  he  had  reckoned  up  the 
ragings  and  cursings  which  formed  a  considerable  item  in 
his  day's  employment.  Dulcie,  he  vowed  to  himself,  must 


190  ONCE  AGAIN. 

and  should  be  his.  His  intentions  were  strictly  honorable: 
what  did  he  ask  better  than  to  make  her  his  wife  ?  but, 
since  Fate  would  not  allow  that,  why,  then — but  ho  did 
not  permit  himself  to  dwell  on  the  alternative. 

Dulcie  now  began  to  cast  about  in  her  mind  how  the 
meeting  was  to  be  effected.  She  had  become  so  versed  in 
duplicity  that  she  no  longer  had  any  scruples:  indeed, 
she  argued  to  herself  that  she  had  been  driven  to  it  by 
her  mother's  harsh  and  unkind  treatment. 

Mrs.  Leslie  had  accepted  an  invitation  for  them  both  the 
week  following  to  a  smart  garden-party  four  miles  distant, 
and  was  looking  forward  to  it  with  some  little  excitement. 
This  would  be  Dulcie's  opportunity.  She  would  feign  ill- 
ness on  the  day,  having  previously  apprised  Alwyne  of 
her  intention,  only  cautioning  him  not  to  come  unless  it 
should  be  a  thoroughly  clear  day. 

Meantime,  she  behaved  in  so  exemplary  a  way  that 
Mrs.  Leslie's  fears  were  set  at  rest,  and  she  wrote  most 
encouraging  letters  to  Mrs.  Vernon.  Dulcie,  she  said, 
seemed  extremely  happy  in  the  country, — was  very  amia- 
ble and  cheerful,  and  gave  her  no  trouble  or  anxiety  what- 
ever. She  appeared  quite  reconciled  to  her  fate,  now  she 
was  no  longer  in  fear  of  being  claimed  by  Mr.  Trevor. 
The  day  of  the  garden-party  arrived.  When  Dulcie  camo 
down  to  breakfast,  she  complained  of  a  slight  headache, 
but  made  light  of  it,  and  declared  that  a  turn  in  the  gar- 
den would  no  doubt  put  her  right.  As  the  morning  wore 
on,  however,  she  became  gradually  worse,  and  by  lunch- 
time  she  had  retired  to  bed,  pulled  down  the  blinds,  and 
answered  Mrs.  Leslie's  tender  inquiries  in  a  faint  and  lan- 
guid voice.  She  was  repeating  her  little  ruse  at  Nice 
with  perfect  success. 

This  sudden  illness  was  a  severe  blow  to  Mrs.  Leslie, 
who  had  been  looking  forward  to  chaperoning  her  pretty 
ard  elegant  cousin  at  the  party.  The  day,  too,  was  lovely, 
— everything  that  could  be  desired. 

Mrs.  Leslie  proposed  staying  at  home  to  nurse  Dulcie, 
but  of  this  she  would  not  hear,  averring  that  it  was 
simply  one  of  the  ordinary  headaches  to  which  she  was 
at  times  subject,  and  that  the  only  remedy  was  complete 
quiet.  So  at  four  o'clock  Mrs.  Leslie  drove  off  in  her 
pony-carriage  rather  sad  and  disconsolate.  No  sooner 


ONCE  AGAIN.  191 

had  the  sound  of  wheels  died  away  than  Dulcie  sprang  up, 
put  on  her  prettiest  frock,  recurled  her  fringe,  and,  going 
down-stairs,  placed  herself  at  the  drawing-room  window, 
which  commanded  a  view  of  visitors  arriving.  Twenty 
minutes  later,  she  beheld  Alwyne  coming  up  the  drive, 
and  flew  to  open  the  door  for  him.  If  his  visit  could  be 
made  without  the  knowledge  of  the  servants,  whose  of- 
fices were  all  at  the  back  of  the  house,  so  much  the  better. 

A  minute  later  he  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  she 
was  in  his  arms.  To  do  Dulcie  justice,  she  really  felt  that 
she  belonged  to  Alwyne,  and  looked  upon  herself  as  en- 
gaged to  him.  Her  real  husband  she  regarded  as  a  dis- 
agreeable detail  which  she  did  her  best  to  forget. 

Some  considerable  time  was  spent  in  expressions  of  de- 
light at  meeting,  and  in  Dulcie's  description  of  the  firm- 
ness by  which  she  had  baffled  her  mother  and  routed 
Noel :  then  suddenly  she  stopped,  and,  looking  eagerly  in 
Alwyne's  face,  cried, — 

"  What  does  your  lawyer  say  ?" 

This  was  the  moment  that  Alwyne  had  dreaded. 
Evading  a  direct  answer,  he  renewed  his  impassioned 
protestations  with  increased  fervor;  but  Dulcie,  bent  on 
hearing  the  answer  for  which  she  hoped,  put  them  aside, 
and  repeated  her  question  earnestly. 

Alwyne  hesitated.  He  could  not  tell  her  a  lie  on  the 
subject,  and  yet,  with  any  shadow  of  truth,  he  could  not 
bid  her  hope. 

Dulcie  trembled. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  whispered,  with  white  lips 
and  a  terrified  look,  "  that  nothing  can  be  done  ?" 

"  Nothing,  I  am  afraid,"  replied  Alwyne,  gloomily, 
"  short  of  his  knocking  you  down  and  running  away  with 
another  woman."  Then,  seating  himself  beside  her  and 
taking  her  hand,  he  began  again  hotly  to  protest  his  love. 
He  urged  all  those  arguments  common  to  young  men 
when  passion  gets  the  better  of  honor  :  he  talked  the  spe- 
cious nonsense  about  marriages  unblessed  by  the  Church 
but  sacred  in  the  sight  of  God,  which  has  befooled  silly 
women  to  their  undoing ;  he  vowed  eternal  fidelity ;  he 
pictured  a  Paradise  in  foreign  lands  of  which  they  were  to 
be  the  Adam  and  Eve:  he  did  and  said  everything,  in 
fact,  that  he  could  think  of  to  persuade  Dulcie  to  run 


192  ONCE  AGAIN. 

away  with  him.  But  Dulcie's  heart  had  turned  to  stone 
within  her.  She  was  not  of  those  who  think  the  world 
•well  lost  for  love's  sake :  she  understood  quite  enough  of 
such  matters  to  realize  the  fate  of  a  woman  who  commits 
the  error  that  Alwyne  would  have  had  her  commit,  and  she 
was  the  last  girl  in  the  world  to  sacrifice  herself  in  such  a 
manner.  She  loved  Alwyne  to  the  best  of  her  poor  ability, 
but  the  man  did  not  exist  for  whom  she  could  bear  scorn 
and  contumely.  All  the  imprudences  she  had  been  guilty 
of  had  been  committed  in  the  belief  that  she  was  to  be 
Alwyne's  wife :  never  for  one  instant  had  the  thought  of 
being  his  mistress  crossed  her  brain.  Now  despair  over- 
came her:  she  sat  and  wept  helplessly;  whilst  he  was  at 
his  wits'  end  to  console  her.  She  scarcely  heard  his  im- 
passioned words :  a  dull  grievous  sense  that  all  was  at  an 
end  between  them  overwhelmed  her.  From  henceforth 
she  was  widowed  and  hopeless:  she  would  not  be  Noel's 
wife,  she  could  not  be  Alwyne's. 

Alwyne  had  not  said  to  himself  in  so  many  words  that 
he  intended  to  play  the  villain ;  he  only  declared  that  he 
could  not  live  without  her;  and  now  he  was  trying  to 
gloss  over  the  wrong  and  to  persuade  her  that  their  mani- 
fest duty  was  to  live  for  each  other.  He  did  not  really 
anticipate  a  very  hard  task  in  persuading  Dulcie,  and  he 
quite  meant  to  consider  her  his  wife  to  the  end  of  their 
natural  lives.  But  he  painted  his  charming  pictures  to 
dull  ears.  Dulcie  kept  on  thinking  and  realizing,  as  he 
talked,  of  the  agonizing  loss  she  had  sustained,  but  was 
not  moved  for  one  instant  to  any  thought  of  consenting. 

And,  just  when  Alwyne  felt  that  his  passionate  plead- 
ing must  conquer,  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  dim 
from  much  weeping,  and  said, — 

"  You  must  go  now,  and  I  shall  never  see  you  again." 

He  sat  staring  as  one  stupefied :  he  did  not  believe  for 
a  moment  that  she  seriously  meant  what  she  said. 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest !"  he  cried. 

"  I  am,"  she  answered,  between  her  sobs.  "  I  would 
have  done  anything,  sacrificed  anything,  to  be  your  wife, 
but  you  say  it  is  impossible.  If  you  really  loved  me,  you 
— you  would  never  think  of  anything  else." 

Alwyne  protested  that  he  did  love  her;  that  it  was 
because  he  loved  her  he  could  not  give  her  up ;  that  if 


ONCE  AGAIN.  193 

she  loved  him  she  would  feel,  as  he  did,  that  life  apart 
was  not  to  be  borne. 

But  here  the  obstinacy  which  had  baffled  Mrs.  Yernon 
and  Noel  came  in,  to  the  confusion  of  Alwyne,  and,  though 
she  wept  piteously,  she  was  not  to  be  brought  to  make 
any  concession.  She  could  never  love  any  one  else ;  if 
ever  the  time  came  when  she  was  free,  she  would  be  his, 
but  only  his  lawfully  and  honorably. 

Then  Alwyne  lost  his  temper,  and  reproached  her 
violently,  and  cried  too  with  rage  and  disappointment, 
and  swore  that  she  was  sending  him  to  the  devil,  and  that 
he  would  go  there  with  all  possible  expedition,  and  then 
perhaps  she  would  be  sorry. 

As  she  remained  unmoved  by  all  this,  excepting  that 
she  continued  to  weep  copiously,  he  at  last  rushed  from 
the  room  and  house,  violently  banging  the  door  behind 
him,  and  frightening  the  servants,  who  up  to  this  time 
had  been  unconscious  of  his  presence  in  the  house. 

By  the  time  her  cousin  returned  from  the  garden-party, 
Dulcie  was  really  ill  in  bed  from  the  effects  of  her  excite- 
ment. In  the  course  of  the  evening  Mrs.  Leslie  was  in- 
formed that  a  gentleman  had  been  to  see  Miss  Yernon, 
arid  had  left  the  house  with  a  bang  that  nearly  brought 
the  house  down.  She  was  seriously  alarmed :  she  had  not 
believed  that  Dulcie  would  deceive  her;  but  now  she 
realized  that  her  staying  at  home  was  merely  a  ruse,  and 
trembled  lest  Mrs.  Yernon  should  discover  how  she  had 
been  outwitted.  Well,  it  should  not  happen  again :  she 
only  trusted  that  nothing  serious  would  come  of  this. 

She  went  at  once  to  Dulcie,  who  lay  pale  and  inert, 
with  closed  eyes. 

"  Dulcie,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  have  done  very 
wrong  to  deceive  me  in  this  way.  What  am  I  to  say  to 
your  mother  if  she  finds  it  out  ?" 

The  girl's  tears  fell  afresh. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  she  answered,  dolorously. 
"  I  shall  never  see  him  again.  It  is  all  over ;  and,  oh !  I 
am  the  most  miserable  girl  alive !" 

Then  Mrs.  Leslie  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  pressed  her 
hand  kindly  and  besought  her  to  relate  what  had  hap- 
pened. And  Dulcie  replied  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
hope  of  a  divorce ;  but  she  was  too  proud  and  too  cunning 
i  n  17 


194  ONCE  AGAIN. 

to  reveal  what  more  had  passed  between  them  on  the 
subject. 

Next  day  she  received  an  impassioned  letter  from  Al- 
wyne,  begging  her  forgiveness,  yet  declaring  that  he  could 
not  live  without  her. 

She  put  his  letter  in  the  grate,  burned  up  every  morsel 
with  wax  matches,  and  made  no  reply  of  any  kind  to  it. 
After  three  days  came  his  parting  shaft.  "  You  never 
loved  me.  You  will  see  to  what  you  have  driven  me  J" 

"Good  gracious!"  cried  Mrs.  Leslie,  a  few  mornings 
later,  at  breakfast,  as  she  was  looking  over  the  "  Morning 
Post." 

"What?"  asked  Dulcie,  listlessly. 

Her  cousin  handed  her  the  paper  with  a  shocked  look, 
and  she  read, — 

"  We  are  authorized  to  announce  that  a  marriage  has 
been  arranged,  and  will  shortly  take  place,  between  Mr. 
Alwyne  Temple,  of  Blank  Court,  Blankshire,  and  Lady 
Lucy  Quickset,  second  daughter  of  the  Earl  and  Countess 
of  Hedgerow." 

Dulcie's  hand  trembled ;  her  face  was  very  white  as  sho 
returned  the  paper  to  Mrs.  Leslie. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  best  thing  he  could  do,"  she  said, 
trying  to  command  her  voice. 

Then  she  rose,  left  her  unfinished  breakfast,  and  went 
to  her  room. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

HERE  I  must  exert  the  author's  privilege  of  putting 
back  the  clock  and  return  for  the  moment  to  some  of  the 
other  characters  who  have  figured  in  these  pages. 

We  left  Mrs.  Chandos  with  a  headache ;  Sir  John  Ches- 
ter with  a  heart-ache,  partially  relieved  for  the  moment 
by  the  unexpected  kindness  of  his  lady-love ;  Mrs.  Her- 
bert in  the  role  of  benevolent  godmother,  and  Mrs.  Pier- 
point  at  her  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do  with  her  wilful 
and  turbulent-spirited  brother ;  Mrs.  Chester  in  sore  dis- 
tress of  mind  and  full  of  fear  of  the  wiles  of  the  wicked 
siren,  and  Lilah  irritable  and  peevish  to  the  last  degree  at 
what  she  considered  every  one's  neglect  of  her. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  195 

When  Mrs.  Yernon  and  Dulcie  left,  and  Jack  took  up 
his  quarters  at  Cannes,  her  temper  became  unbearable, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  week  she  worried  her  mother  until  the 
poor  lady  was  obliged  to  consent  to  taking  her  back  to 
England.  Lilah  hated  being  abroad,  she  declared;  she 
hated  foreigners;  she  hated  the  hotel;  she  even  hated  tho 
roses  and  the  sunshine,  and  insisted  that,  instead  of  feel- 
ing better,  she  was  much,  much  worse,  and  would  very 
likely  die  if  she  were  not  restored  at  once  to  her  dear 
home. 

Perhaps,  in  her  secret  heart,  Mrs.  Chester  was  not 
sorry  for  a  pretext  to  get  her  son  away  from  the  dangers 
and  temptations  which  beset  him,  and  when  Lilah  passion- 
ately and  persistently  demanded  to  be  taken  back  to  Eng- 
land she  wrote  to  Sir  John  to  acquaint  him  with  his  sister's 
desire. 

The  letter  was  a  severe  blow  to  Jack,  who  was  basking 
in  sunshine,  both  actual  and  metaphorical,  at  Cannes,  and 
his  first  impulse  was  to  feel  angry  with  Lilah  and  even  to 
rebel  against  having  his  pleasure  curtailed  by  what  he 
knew  to  be  simply  her  caprice.  Indeed,  he  had  to  fight  a 
pretty  stern  battle  with  himself  before  his  kind  heart  and 
the  recollection  of  his  dead  father's  injunction  triumphed 
over  the  inclination  to  refuse  submission  to  her  selfish  and 
arbitrary  will.  But  he  did  triumph,  and,  with  a  very  sore 
heart,  bade  adieu  to  the  two  dear  ladies  at  the  Yilla  Blank. 
In  one  way  he  was  almost  as  much  attached  to  Mrs.  Herbert 
as  to  Eeine.  She  had  a  wonderful  art  of  making  him  ap- 
pear to  the  best  advantage ;  in  her  presence  he  was  never 
tongue-tied  nor  awkward,  and  Heine  admitted  that  there 
was  a  great  deal  more  in  him  than  she  had  suspected.  She 
rallied  Mrs.  Herbert  on  his  devotion  to  her,  and  declared 
that  they  were  so  much  in  love  with  each  other  that  it 
was  positively  embarrassing  to  be  the  third  person ;  and 
Mrs.  Herbert  did  not  attempt  to  deny  the  impeachment, 
but  merely  declared  that  she  would  give  anything  to  adopt 
him  as  her  son,  upon  which  Eeine  gibingly  replied  that 
Mia  was  making  use  of  a  very  common  subterfuge,  only 
that,  unfortunately,  it  was  such  an  old  and  hackneyed  one 
that  it  deceived  no  one.  Mrs.  Herbert  smiled,  and  pro- 
tested no  more. 

When  Jack  took  a  sorrowful  farewell  of  her,  she  prom- 


196  ONCE  AGAIN. 

ised  to  write  to  him,  and  bade  him  be  sure  to  come  to 
London  and  see  her  as  soon  as  she  returned  there.  And 
when,  in  the  following  April,  she  wrote  to  him  announcing 
her  arrival,  he  put  himself  in  the  train  the  very  next  day 
with  a  joyful  heart,  and  was  whirled  away  to  the  big  city. 

Mrs.  Herbert  received  him  with  open  arms ;  he  had  a 
delightful  tete-d-tete  dinner  with  her  that  very  evening, 
and,  during  the  three  days  of  his  sojourn,  spent  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  in  her  company. 

Eeine  was  in  Paris,  and  likely  to  remain  there  for  at 
least  another  month.  Captain  Bernard,  she  informed  him 
with  unfeigned  pleasure,  had  at  last  succeeded  in  drink- 
ing himself  to  death,  and,  though  she  would  not  buoy  Jack 
up  with  false  hopes,  she  still  encouraged  him  not  to  de- 
spair, and  promised  to  help  him  if  he  would  yield  implicitly 
to  her  guidance. 

Mrs.  Herbert,  who  felt  unequal  to  and  disliked  the 
trouble  of  having  a  large  acquaintance,  was  an  extremely 
stanch  and  loyal  friend  to  those  she  liked  and  took  an  in- 
terest in.  "Friendship,"  she  was  wont  to  say,  "is  the 
great  resource  and  pleasure  of  middle  age :  its  ties,  un- 
like those  of  love,  are  welcome  and  pleasant;  they  are 
elastic,  and  will  stretch  to  any  extent ;  it  is  impossible  for 
them  to  gall.  Friendship  is  not  like  love,  a  sudden  in- 
stinct that  draws  together  two  people  who  have  nothing 
in  common  but  passion ;  it  must  be  founded  on  a  similarity 
of  tastes  and  ideas,  on  mutual  affection  and  esteem.  If 
my  lover  does  an  unworthy  or  a  cruel  action,  I  may  hate 
the  act,  but  be  unable  to  refrain  from  loving  him ;  if  my 
friend  committed  it,  he  would  no  longer  be  ray  friend,  for 
my  affection  could  not  blind  me  to  his  unworthiness,  and, 
although  I  might  still  keep  him  as  an  acquaintance,  his 
hold  on  my  heart  would  be  gone.  But,  unless  my  judg- 
ment had  wandered  very  far  astray,  I  should  never  have 
chosen  for  a  friend  one  who  was  capable  of  wounding  and 
outraging  my  susceptibilities." 

Mrs.  Herbert,  then,  having  admitted  Jack  to  her  friend- 
ship, was  ready  to  do  everything  in  her  power  to  help 
him.  She  was  convinced  of  the  excellence  of  his  heart 
and  temper;  his  behavior  to  his  mother  and  sister  assured 
her  of  that,  and  his  extreme  fondness  for  and  goodness  to 
animals  was  a  very  strong  link  between  him  and  his  new 


ONCE  AGAIN.  197 

friend.  All  the  ideas  which  he  expressed  when  they  con- 
versed intimately  together  were  pleasing  to  her ;  he  was 
open,  straightforward,  honest,  abhorred  everything  mean, 
cruel,  or  cowardly,  was  absolutely  devoid  of  the  cheap 
cynicism  which  many  young  men  of  the  day  think  it 
smart  to  affect,  either  on  the  subject  of  women's  virtue  or 
the  general  untrustworthiness  of  the  whole  human  race. 
He  could  believe,  admire,  and  love  with  a  fresh  and  honest 
heart ;  and  nothing  would  have  induced  Mrs.  Herbert  to 
air  in  his  presence  any  of  the  advanced  views  which  she 
sometimes  advocated  in  the  presence  of  a  sympathetic 
listener. 

"  People  who  believe  everything  are  happy  and  enviable," 
she  said.  "  I  think  it  a  positive  crime  to  attempt  to  take 
from  any  one  a  particle  of  faith,  although  in  my  own  eyes 
it  may  seem  to  be  only  obsolete  superstition.  I  would  far 
rather  see  a  slight  lack  of  intelligence  or  disinclination  to 
intellectual  research  in  a  young  man  than  the  brilliant 
talents  which  so  often  go  to  make  an  iconoclast  of  him." 

And  Jack  never  doubted  for  one  instant  that  Mr«.  Her- 
bert believed  every  word  of  the  Bible  from  beginning  to 
end,  but  imagined  that  she  deplored  as  deeply  as  he  did 
the  malign  influence  of  Henry  Bertram,  which  had  per- 
verted the  ideas  of  the  purest  and  most  innocent  woman 
in  the  world.  He  was  exceedingly  discomposed  one  day, 
when  seated  in  Mrs.  Herbert's  drawing-room,  by  the  but- 
ler throwing  open  the  door,  and  announcing,  "  Mr,  Ber- 
tram." Jack  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  the  room :  he 
could  not  therefore  take  his  hat  and  go,  but  had  to  remain, 
and  join  in  conversation  with  the  dangerous  atheist. 
Never  had  he  received  a  greater  shock  of  surprise  than 
as  he  sat  and  listened  to  Mr.  Bertram's  conversation,  it  was 
so  polished,  so  amusing,  so  thoroughly  good-natured  and 
tolerant  on  every  subject  that  was  mooted,  so  full  of  in- 
dulgence for  the  shortcomings  of  others.  It  happened 
that  Mrs.  Herbert  brought  up  two  topics  of  considerable 
interest  which  were  then  occupying  the  public  mind,  and 
she  spoke  with  a  great  deal  of  energy  and  some  fire  in 
denouncing  the  wrong-doers ;  but  Henry  Bertram,  whilst 
not  palliating  the  crimes  themselves,  made  such  generous 
and  intelligent  allowance  for  possible  circumstances  and 
motives  not  apparent  to  those  who  only  saw  results,  that 

17* 


198  ONCE  AGAIN. 

he  ended  by  persuading  Mrs.  Herbert  and  Jack,  who  had 
warmly  supported  her,  to  take  a  more  lenient  view  of  the 
case. 

Little  by  little  Jack  felt  his  prejudice  melting  away,  and 
when  Bertram  rose  to  take  leave  he  found  himself  giving 
a  hearty  and  cordial  hand-shake  to  the  man  whom  he  had 
looked  upon  as  the  arch-enemy  of  every  good  and  noble 
sentiment. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  smiling,  as  the  door  closed 
upon  him,  looking  up  at  Jack  with  a  perfect  comprehen- 
sion of  his  change  of  feeling,  "  and  what  do  you  think  of 
the  monster?" 

Jack  looked,  as  he  felt,  puzzled. 

"  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  any  one,"  he  said,  honestly, 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "  To  hear  him  talk,  he  seems 
such  a  good  chap.  If  one  did  not  know " 

"  You  have  seen  him  to-day  as  he  is  always,"  said  Mrs. 
Herbert.  "  He  is  the  kindest-hearted,  most  charitable 
creature  living.  If  he  believed  every  syllable  that  is 
written  in  the  Scriptures,  he  could  not  more  thoroughly 
act  up  to  the  principles  they  inculcate." 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  remarked  Jack,  perplexed,  and 
scarcely  liking  to  confess  that  he  had  always  imagined 
unbelievers  to  be  wicked,  immoral  wretches,  capable  of 
committing  the  blackest  and  most  dastardly  crimes,  and 
to  whom  charity  and  generous  impulses  were  unknown. 
"  Was  he  always  an — atheist  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary.  His  father  was  a  bishop,  and  he 
was  brought  up  most  strictly.  He  declares  that  the  in- 
tolerance and  narrow-mindedness  which  he  saw  in  his 
youth  so  revolted  all  the  generous  instincts  of  his  nature 
that  the  moment  he  was  able  to  emancipate  himself  he 
flung  off  the  cloak  of  religion,  and  has,  according  to  his 
own  account,  been  happy  ever  since." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  repeated  Jack,  still  puzzled. 
"  I  don't  see  how  people  can  do  right  if  they  don't  believe 
in  God." 

"  Henry  Bertram  says,"  returned  Mrs.  Herbert,  "  that 
he  cannot  see  why  you  want  a  God  to  teach  you  that  it  is 
wrong  to  lie  and  steal  and  oppress  the  helpless,  when 
your  own  natural  instincts  tell  it  you  so  plainly.  '  Do 
you  think,'  he  says,  *  I  would  say  to  my  boy,  if  I  had  one, 


ONCE  AGAJft.  199 

"Do  not  lie  and  steal  and  be  cruel  and  injure  others,  be- 
cause God  will  damn  you  and  send  you  to  hell  if  you  do"  ? 
No!  I  should  say,  "Be  honest,  kind,  truthful,  just,  that 
you  may  respect  yourself  and  help  your  fellow-creatures 
and  make  them  happier;  that  when  you  die  you  may 
have  been  of  use  in  your  generation,  and  have  helped  the 
world  to  progress  towards  a  happier  and  more  enlightened 
Btate ;  that  whilst  you  live  you  may  be  able  to  hold  up 
your  head  among  your  fellow-men  ;  that  you  may  keep 
your  heart  soft,  and  not  be  arrogant  and  bitter  and  hard 
to  those  who  don't  think  as  you  do." ' 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  "  but  is  not  that  very  much  what 
Christianity  teaches  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Herbert,  "  what  it  ought  to  teach, 
and  what  it  is  supposed  to  teach ;  only  with  the  love  of 
God  for  its  motive.  But  just  look  at  all  the  different  sects 
and  parties  !  *  See  how  these  Christians  love  each  other  !' 
Still,  for  my  own  part,  I  can  make  allowance  for  a  certain 
amount  of  bigotry  and  narrow-mindedness.  If  you  are 
very  much  in  earnest  and  believe  honestly  that  there  is 
only  one  way  of  being  saved,  you  must  nail  your  colors  to 
the  mast  and  stick  to  fixed  principles.  For  the  most  part, 
tolerance  means  indifference.  If  you  with  all  the  energy 
of  your  heart  and  soul  believe  in  a  certain  thing,  you  can- 
not say,  l  Perhaps  it's  true,  and  perhaps  it  isn't :  after  all, 
it  does  not  much  matter.'  " 

Here  another  visitor  was  announced,  and  Jack  took  his 
leave  without  having  had  an  opportunity  of  saying  a  word 
about  Heine. 

In  the  interests  of  her  favorite,  Mrs.  Herbert  thought 
it  desirable  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Jack's  mother 
and  sister,  and  Fortune  was  not  long  in  favoring  her  with 
an  opportunity.  Lilah  was  more  delicate  than  ever,  and 
Mrs.  Chester  brought  her  to  London  to  consult  an  eminent 
physician.  When  they  had  been  three  or  four  days  in 
town,  Mrs.  Herbert,  after  ascertaining  that  a  call  from  her 
would  be  acceptable,  paid  her  visit  late  in  the  afternoon. 
The  Chesters  were  staying  in  apartments,  as  Lilah  disliked 
the  noise  of  a  hotel.  Mrs.  Herbert  found  them  in  tribula- 
tion :  the  chimney  smoked ;  the  landlady  was  disobliging ; 
Lilah  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  nervous  irritability. 
Mrs.  Herbert,  who  was  not,  as  a  rule,  fond  of  strangers  or 


200  ONCE  AGAIN. 

of  being  put  out  of  her  way,  took  pity  on  the  two  help- 
less ladies,  and,  having  also  an  eye  to  Jack's  interest,  in- 
sisted positively  that  they  should  give  up  their  rooms  and 
come  to  her  comfortable  house  next  day,  and,  in  spite  of 
Mrs.  Chester's  protestations,  would  take  no  denial.  The 
result  was  admirable.  Lilah  had  never  been  so  happy 
and  comfortable  before.  Mrs.  Chester  was  weighed  down 
by  gratitude,  and  Mrs.  Herbert  won  in  the  mother  and 
daughter  two  admiring  and  devoted  friends.  She  was 
obliged  to  promise  a  return  visit  to  them  at  their  country 
home,  and  this  led  to  an  arrangement  which  gave  pleasure 
to  all  parties. 

The  dower-house  on  the  estate  was  let,  but  the  tenant 
was  in  the  habit  of  travelling  during  July,  August,  and 
September,  and  subletting  the  house  for  these  three  months 
if  a  desirable  occupant  could  be  found.  The  house  was 
charmingly  furnished,  and  had  a  lovely  garden.  Mrs. 
Herbert's  custom  was  to  rent  a  place  in  the  country  dur- 
ing the  summer  and  autumn,  and  the  Chester  family  im- 
plored her  to  come  and  take  up  her  abode  at  the  dower- 
house. 

Mrs.  Chester  was  aware  that  Mrs.  Herbert  was  the 
friend  of  Mrs.  Chandos,  but,  having  heard  no  mention  of 
that  lady  for  several  months,  had  ceased  to  feel  any  anx- 
iety or  misgivings  about  her.  Mrs.  Herbert  had  not  once 
mentioned  Eeine's  name  in  the  presence  of  either  Mrs. 
Chester  or  Lilah,  and,  before  they  came  to  see  her,  had, 
with  a  slight  qualm  as  though  she  were  guilty  of  some 
treachery,  locked  away  the  beautiful  miniature  of  Keine 
which  always  stood  on  her  writing-table  along  with  the 
handsomely-bound  volumes  of  poems  which  were  also  wont 
to  occupy  a  prominent  place  in  her  boudoir.  Truth  to 
tell,  she  and  Jack  entered  into  a  little  conspiracy  which 
would  have  made  Eeine  furious  had  she  known  it,  to  avoid 
all  mention  of  her,  and  of  her  sayings  and  doings,  before  his 
relatives. 

Eeine  always  spent  at  least  a  month  with  Mrs.  Herbert 
at  her  summer  resort,  and  Jack,  with  a  beating  heart, 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  his  idol  would  be  even 
at  his  very  gates. 

It  was  June  before  Mrs.  Chandos  came  to  London  and 
took  up  her  residence  in  her  own  pretty  little  house.  She 


ONCE  AGAIN.  201 

had  almost  forgotten  Jack's  existence,  but  when  she  met 
him  at  Mrs.  Herbert's  she  behaved  very  kindly  and  cord- 
ially to  him,  and  rallied  her  friend  more  than  ever  about 
her  latest  infatuation.  Mrs.  Herbert  laid  down  the 
strictest  rules  for  Jack's  guidance,  and,  by  repeating  them 
over  and  over  again,  succeeded  in  impressing  upon  him 
the  absolute  necessity  of  following  them  if  he  ever  hoped 
for  success.  True,  she  could  not  exercise  the  control  over 
his  eyes  that  she  did  over  his  tongue,  but  Eeine  did  not 
appear  to  remark  his  occasional  glances  of  devotion,  and, 
as  long  as  he  refrained  from  putting  his  feelings  into 
words,  was  quite  willing  to  be  friendly  with  him.  In- 
deed, she  took  a  considerable  liking  to  him,  and  he  was 
often  allowed  to  be  in  her  company  when  she  and  Mrs. 
Herbert  were  together. 

Henry  Bertram  not  unfrequently  made  a  fourth  at  din- 
ner or  for  a  party  to  the  pla}r,  and  when  Jack  had  fully 
convinced  himself  that  this  pleasant  infidel  had  no  designs 
on  Eeine's  heart  he  became  immensely  attached  to  him, 
and  Mr.  Bertram  heartily  reciprocated  the  young  fellow's 
good  feeling,  being  thoroughly  pleased  with  his  honest, 
open,  and  guileless  nature.  Mrs.  Herbert  had  even  con- 
fided her  plot  to  him  for  the  bringing  together  of  this 
pair,  and  he,  when  he  had  seen  and  narrowly  observed 
Jack,  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  oppose  or  throw  cold 
water  upon  it. 

He  was  sincerely  attached  to  Eeine ;  he  knew  that  she 
was  an  unhappy  woman,  and  he  was  ready  to  welcome  any 
scheme  that  might  make  her  life  healthier  and  happier. 
He  was  always  trying  to  combat  that  tendency  to  morbid 
feeling  which  was  the  chief  cause  of  her  discontent  and 
despondency,  and  he  agreed  with  Mrs.  Herbert  that  a 
lively  and  adoring  young  husband  would  be  an  excellent 
antidote  to  gloomy  and  pessimistic  thoughts. 

Eeine,  acute  though  her  instincts  usually  were,  did  not 
suspect  the  trap  that  was  being  laid  for  her  by  her  devoted 
friends :  the  idea  would  have  seemed  to  her  so  preposterous 
and  absurd  that  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  entertain  it. 
She  was  in  a  happier  mood  than  she  had  been  for  a  long 
time :  the  death  of  Captain  Bernard  was  an  unspeakable 
relief  to  her;  she  was  no  longer  haunted  by  the  fear  of 
meeting  him,  or  of  hearing  some  disgraceful  story  about 


202  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Mm.  She  now  realized  that  she  was  absolutely  free, — the 
mistress  of  her  own  fate  and  life  as  far  as  any  mortal  can 
be.  She  consented  willingly  to  spend  some  time  with  Mrs. 
Herbert  at  the  dower-house,  being  in  blissful  ignorance  of 
the  fear  and  horror  which  she  inspired  in  the  maternal 
breast  of  Mrs.  Chester. 

During  her  stay  in  town  she  saw  a  good  deal  of  Mrs 
Yernon,  who  was  in  a  really  pitiable  state  of  wretchedness 
and  embarrassment.  She  had  conceived  a  positive  dislike 
to  her  daughter,  and  declared  it  to  be  impossible  that  the}' 
should  live  any  longer  under  the  same  roof.  Knowing 
Heine's  discretion,  it  was  an  immense  relief  to  her  to  dis- 
cuss the  miserable  affair,  and  Eeine  sympathized  very  sin- 
cerely with  her  aunt.  It  was  out  of  the  question,  Mrs. 
Vernon  declared,  that  she  should  continue  to  go  about 
with  Dulcie  as  though  she  were  a  marriageable  girl ;  and 
to  live  in  a  state  of  constant  suspicion  of  some  new  treach- 
ery and  duplicity  would  be  intolerable. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  beyond  measure  indignant  with  Noel 
for  his  cowardice ;  but  he  had  sailed  for  India,  and  was 
out  of  reach  of  her  remonstrances  or  anger.  She  lived  in 
daily  fear,  she  declared,  of  Dulcie's  folly  bringing  her  into 
irretrievable  disgrace,  and  it  was  with  heartfelt  thankful- 
ness that  she  read  the  announcement  in  the  "  Post"  of 
Alwyne's  intended  marriage.  But  until  it  was  an  accom- 
plished fact  she  averred  that  she  should  not  know  a  mo- 
ment's peace,  since  it  might  only  be  a  fresh  ruse  of  the 
pair,  who  seemed  equally  devoid  of  honorable  instincts,  to 
throw  dust  in  her  eyes  and  the  eyes  of  the  world  at  large 
in  order  that  they  might  carry  out  their  own  abominable 
designs. 

Mrs.  Herbert  was  acquainted  with  the  Hedgerows,  and 
Reine  elicited  from  her,  without  any  breach  of  her  aunt's 
confidence,  that  the  engagement  was  a  bona-fide  one,  that 
the  family  were  pleased  with  it,  and  that  Alwyne  appeared 
to  be  a  very  devoted  and  attentive  lover. 

Dulcie  remained  for  the  present  with  Mrs.  Leslie,  as  her 
mother  had  no  desire  to  see  her,  and  Mrs.  Yernon  em- 
ployed all  the  tact  she  possessed  to  account  to  her  friends 
for  her  daughter's  absence  from  London  in  the  very 
height  of  the  season. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  203 


CIIAPTEE  XXIII. 

MRS.  HERBERT  took  possession  of  the  dower-house  early 
in  July.  Reine  was  not  to  join  her  until  a  month  later, 
having  promised  to  spend  some  weeks  with  another  inti- 
mate friend  in  Hampshire. 

Mrs.  Herbert,  who  never  liked  to  be  quite  alone,  es- 
pecially in  the  country,  took  with  her  as  companion  pro 
tern,  the  daughter  of  an  old  friend  whom  stern  vicissitude 
had  compelled  to  earn  the  bitter  bread  of  dependence.  Her 
experiences  had  been  peculiarly  unfortunate,  her  lot  having 
fallen  among  vulgar  and  tyrannical  people,  and  she  could, 
although  she  rarely  did,  relate  stories  of  the  treatment 
she  had  suffered  which  would  hardly  have  seemed  credible 
to  ordinary  people.  There  are  hundreds — let  us  hope 
thousands — of  houses  where  governesses  and  companions 
are  treated  with  kindness  and  courtesy,  but  there  are 
others  where  the  behavior  of  the  employers  is  such  as 
they  would  not  dare  to  show  a  servant,  on  pain  of  being 
left  to  wait  upon  themselves.  In  these  days,  when  thou- 
sands of  gently-nurtured  girls  have  no  alternative  but  to 
earn  their  own  bread,  when  the  market  is  so  terribly  over- 
stocked with  the  commodity  of  unemployed  gentlewomen, 
it  is  a  case  either  of  starving  or  enduring ;  and  if  ladies 
are  cruel  and  overbearing  the  unhappy  dependant  must- 
submit,  or  run  the  chance  of  being  for  months  without  a 
situation,  perhaps  suffering  absolute  want. 

Mrs.  Herbert,  who  had  been  very  kind  to  Grace's  family, 
invited  her  to  spend  a  month  at  the  dower-house.  She 
was  a  tall,  graceful  girl,  not  exactly  pretty,  but  exceed- 
ingly ladylike,  with  beautiful  hands  and  feet  and  an  un- 
mistakable air  of  breeding.  -She  adored  Mrs.  Herbert, 
and  would  have  done  anything  in  the  world  for  her.  She 
used  to  say,  a  dozen  times  in  the  day, — 

"  You  must  please  not  be  so  kind  to  me,  or  it  will  make 
the  change  so  dreadful  when  I  go  away." 

Mrs.  Herbert  was  delighted  with  the  dower-house.  The 
present  possessor,  seeing  what  a  desirable  tenant  he  had 
secured  in  her,  left  out  all  his  china,  pictures,  and  pretty 


204  ONCE  AGAIN. 

knick-knacks,  and,  as  she  said,  it  was  quite  like  going  to 
one's  own  home.  There  was  a  wealth  of  flowers  in  the 
garden  and  conservatories,  and  Grace  used  to  devote  a 
great  deal  of  her  time  to  arranging  them  in  the  big  china 
bowls;  for  Mrs.  Herbert  loved  to  have  flowers  about  her, 
and  scouted  the  old-fashioned  idea  of  their  making  a  room 
unhealthy. 

Sir  John  came  every  day  to  the  house,  under  the  pre- 
tence of  wanting  to  know  if  she  was  quite  comfortable, 
and  if  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  for  her,  and  seemed 
quite  disappointed  that  his  good  will  was  not  put  to  the 
proof. 

There  was  constant  friendly  intercourse  between  the  hall 
and  the  dower-house.  Lilah  took  a  great  fancy  to  Grace, 
who  read,  sang,  and  talked  to  her,  and  felt  a  genuine 
pleasure  in  lightening  the  burden  of  the  poor  little  suf- 
ferer. 

After  ten  happy  days  Mrs.  Herbert  was  sensible  of  the 
first  crumpled  rose-leaf.  She  saw  that  poor  Grace  was 
fast  falling  in  love  with  Sir  John,  and  it  troubled  her 
seriously.  "  How  can  one  ever  be  sure,  with  the  best  in- 
tentions in  the  world,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  one  is 
doing  a  kindness?  I  have  brought  Gracie  here  thinking 
to  give  her  a  month's  rest  and  happiness,  and  it  is  quite 
likely  that  I  shall  be  the  means  of  causing  her  the  worst 
heartaches  she  has  ever  had  in  her  life,  poor  child !" 

For  Jack,  with  his  natural  kind  and  refined  instincts, 
behaved  with  much  more  attention  to  Grace  than  he  would 
have  done  to  most  girls,  on  account  of  her  dependent 
position,  and  it  would  have  been  quite  pardonable  on  her 
part  if  she  fancied  that  he  was  attracted  towards  her. 
Truth  to  tell,  the  young  man  was  so  anxious  to  be  alone 
with  Mrs.  Herbert  to  talk  about  his  beloved  that  he  was 
mortally  afraid  of  showing  that  the  presence  of  a  third 
person  was  irksome ;  and  so,  whenever  Grace  appeared, 
he  was  at  great  pains  to  conceal  his  chagrin,  and  in  the 
goodness  of  his  heart  a  little  overacted  his  part. 

Mrs.  Herbert  reflected  seriously  upon  the  situation,  and, 
after  some  heart-burning,  came  to  a  decision.  Something 
must  be  done  before  it  was  too  late,  and  she  felt  that  the 
wisest  course  would  be  to  confide  the  real  facts  to  Grace. 
"With  her  usual  tact,  she  selected  her  opportunity  when 


ONCE  AGAIN.  205 

they  were  sitting  together  in  the  twilight  after  dinner,  re- 
flecting that  the  dusk  would  conceal  any  emotion  that  her 
recital  might  bring  to  the  girl's  cheeks  and  eyes. 

She  began  by  praising  Sir  John,  his  thoughtful  kind- 
ness, his  manliness,  his  good  looks, — for  she  thought  him 
good-looking,  although  he  had  no  very  strict  claim  to 
being  called  handsome.  By  the  vivacity  and  ardor  with 
which  Grace  agreed  to  and  echoed  her  encomiums,  a  not 
very  subtle  person  would  have  got  an  inkling  of  the  truth, 
and,  for  once,  it  was  rather  a  source  of  pain  to  Mrs.  Her- 
bert to  have  her  praises  so  eagerly  assented  to. 

"  Who  would  think,"  she  went  on,  almost  hating  her- 
self for  the  stab  she  was  inflicting,  "that  Sir  John  was 
the  victim  of  a  hopeless  love  ?" 

A  moment's  silence  followed,  in  which  the  last  speaker 
acutely  felt  what  her  listener  was  suffering. 

"  It  is  a  strict  secret,"  Mrs.  Herbert  continued,  with  an 
effort,  "  and  if  I  confide  it  to  you  you  must  promise  faith- 
fully not  to  divulge  it,  nor  to  let  him  think  you  have  any 
suspicion  of  it." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  poor  Grace,  in  a  hard,  strained 
voice  that  she  had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  controlling,  and 
a  pang  went  through  her  heart  as  though  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  dire  misfortune  had  come  to  her.  She  had  not 
thought,  imagined,  hoped  anything,  and  yet  this  revela- 
tion came  upon  her  like  a  thunder-clap. 

Mrs.  Herbert  went  on  with  her  story  in  as  natural  a 
voice  as  she  could  command,  and  Grace  listened  whilst  the 
light  waned  and  her  own  heart  grew  dark  and  chill  too. 
She  had  once  seen  Eeine  and  admired  her  immensely ;  but 
now  she  felt  dislike  of  her  growing  in  her  breast,  and  in 
little  more  than  a  fortnight  she,  the  poor  despised  gov- 
erness and  companion,  would  be  ousted  from  all  this  hap- 
piness, and  the  beautiful,  gifted,  fortunate  Mrs.  Chandos, 
who  already  (as  Grace  thought)  had  all  this  world's  good 
things,  would  be  queening  it  in  a  Paradise,  with  the  man 
who  possessed  every  manly  grace  and  virtue  for  her  slave. 
Oh,  how  cruel  the  world  is!  how  cruel  life  is  for  some 
people !  and  how  others  are  heaped  with  gifts  and  bless- 
ings, with  love  and  happiness!  At  this  moment  Grace 
would  have  scoffed  had  any  one  told  her  that  Heine  Chan- 
dos was  a  less  happy  woman  than  herself. 

18 


206  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Mrs.  Herbert's  tale  was  told.  The  room  had  grown 
quite  dark,  and  silence  fell  upon  the  pair. 

"  I  think  we  will  not  have  lights  just  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Herbert,  after  a  long  pause.  "  I  feel  a  little  sleepy," 
she  added,  settling  herself  back  in  her  chair ;  and  Grace 
went  away  into  the  garden,  and,  sitting  on  a  bench, 
looked  at  the  vast  heaven  and  the  silver  stars,  and  mar- 
velled at  the  cruelty  of  her  lot,  until  her  sight  became  dim 
and  misty  with  tears. 

Neither  that  night  nor  at  any  future  time  was  the  sub- 
ject recurred  to  either  by  her  or  Mrs.  Herbert.  Poor 
Grace  had  an  intuition  why  the  story  had  been  told  her, 
and  was  careful  to  let  her  friend  see  that  she  perfectly  un- 
derstood and  appreciated  the  motive  of  Sir  John's  kind- 
ness to  her  and  was  in  no  way  misled  by  it. 

As  August  drew  near,  and  the  time  for  Eeine's  visit 
approached,  both  Jack  and  Mrs.  Herbert  felt  a  little 
uneasy.  Each  know  full  well  what  a  shock  the  news 
would  be  to  Mrs.  Chester,  and  each  had  a  sense  of  guilt  at 
their  conspiracy  and  of  fear  lest  it  should  be  detected. 
Mrs.  Herbert  had  promised  to  broach  the  news,  and  rarely 
had  she  felt  more  uncomfortable  at  a  task.  To  her  intense 
relief,  a  circumstance  altogether  unexpected  came  to  her 
aid,  and  she  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  it. 

Mrs.  Chester  had  written  two  or  three  times  to  Mrs. 
Yernon  during  the  last  few  months,  pressing  her  to  bring 
Dulcie  and  pay  them  the  long-promised  visit,  and  at  last 
Mrs.  Yernon  had  accepted.  Alwyne  Temple's  marriage 
had  taken  place,  and  there  was  no  longer  anything  to  be 
dreaded  from  the  thought  of  meeting  him.  To  be  alone 
with  her  daughter  was  insupportable  to  Mrs.  Yernon,  and 
she  had  therefore  accepted  several  invitations  to  country- 
houses,  and  fixed  the  beginning  of  August  for  her  visit  to 
the  Chesters. 

Mrs.  Chester  came  down  to  the  dower-house  to  an- 
nounce the  news  to  her  friend,  and  Mrs.  Herbert  at  once 
rejoined,  with  great  aplomb, — 

"  That  will  be  charming.  I  have  just  written  to  Mrs. 
Yernon's  niece,  begging  her  to  come  to  me.  If  she  ac- 
cepts, we  shall  be  quite  a  family  party." 

Mrs.  Herbert  spoke  with  so  innocent  an  air  that  poor, 
guileless  Mrs.  Chester  was  Completely  taken  in  by  it;  but 


ONCE  AGAIN.  207 

the  news  was  a  severe  shock  to  her,  although  she  did  her 
best  to  conceal  what  she  felt.  The  one  woman  on  earth 
she  feared  at  her  very  gates !  The  poor  lady  went  home, 
fell  on  her  knees,  and  prayed  as  earnestly  that  her  dear 
son  might  be  delivered  from  Heine's  wiles  and  snares  as 
though  Mrs.  Chandos  had  been  the  Scarlet  Lady  in  propria 
persona. 

Jack  was  at  immense  pains  to  hide  his  jubilance,  but 
his  heart  was  full  of  joy,  and  he  seemed  to  tread  on  air. 

Mrs.  Herbert  was  looking  joyfully  forward  to  Heine's 
arrival,  but  a  pang  shot  through  her  kind  heart  every 
time  she  thought  of  Grace's  departure  and  the  sad  change 
her  life  would  undergo  when  she  left  the  dower-house.  It 
was  an  immense  relief  to  her  when,  one  morning,  Mrs. 
Chester  came  to  make  the  proposition  that  Miss  Waltham 
should  be  offered  the  post  of  companion  to  Lilah  for  three 
months.  The  idea  was  Lilah's  own :  she  had  been  seri- 
ously concerned  at  the  thought  of  losing  her  new  friend, 
and  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  it  would  be  delightful  to 
have  Grace  all  to  herself,  not  as  a  visitor,  but  as  her  own 
chattel  and  apanage.  Mrs.  Chester  had  demurred  a  little 
at  first  to  the  idea  of  taking  a  new  inmate  into  the  family; 
but  Lilah  had  appealed  to  Jack,  and  he  had  heartily  ap- 
proved of  and  concurred  in  it.  At  all  events,  there  could 
be  no  harm  in  trying  it. 

Grace  caught  eagerly  at  the  proposal.  Like  her  sex, 
she  clung  to  the  presence  of  the  beloved,  even  though  she 
knew  that  it  would  cause  her  infinite  suffering. 

Mrs.  Yernon  and  Dulcie  arrived  two  or  three  days  before 
Eeine.  It  was  impossible  for  the  Chesters  not  to  remark 
how  much  changed  Dulcie  was  since  the  winter.  She 
looked  sad ;  she  made  little  effort  to  talk  ;  and  though  she 
forced  a  stereotyped  smile  when  spoken  to,  it  was  so  mani- 
festly artificial  as  to  inspire  no  idea  of  pleasure  or  mirth 
in  the  beholder.  Dulcie  was,  indeed,  utterly  miserable. 
What  affection  she  had  she  had  given  to  Alwyne :  his 
very  masterfulness  had  exercised  a  potent  charm  over  her 
weak  nature ;  it  had  been  happiness  to  submit  to  him  and 
to  his  influence.  The  memory  of  Noel  filled  her  with  fear 
and  repugnance.  A  sense  of  dislike  to  her  mother  over- 
spread her  heart.  She  felt  with  indignant  revolt  that  the 
latter  bad  no  pity  for  her,  no  sympathy  with  her  grief; 


208  ONCE  AGAIN. 

that,  if  she  could,  she  would  at  any  moment  force  her  into 
the  arms  of  Noel ;  that  she  would  gladly  welcome  any- 
thing that  would  relieve  her  of  her,  Dulcie's,  presence. 
This  was  quite  true.  Mrs.  Vernon  felt  nothing  but  impa- 
tient scorn  of  her  daughter.  Dulcie's  presence  had  be- 
come wellnigh  intolerable  to  her:  the  fact  of  having  to 
take  about  a  seemingly  marriageable  daughter  under  false 
pretences  was  an  odious  fraud  which  she  beyond  expres- 
sion hated  being  compelled  to  connive  at. 

Until  Alwyne's  marriage  had  become  an  accomplished 
fact,  Dulcie  had  not  seriously  believed  that  it  would  take 
place.  She  thought  he  meant  to  frighten  and  to  punish 
her :  she  was  so  certain  that  he  loved  her,  she  could  not 
believe  he  would  willingly  place  an  insuperable  barrier 
between  them.  When  she  read  the  announcement  of  his 
marriage  in  the  paper,  it  had  broken  whatever  of  heart 
and  spirit  she  possessed. 

Although  all  the  members  of  the  Chester  family  re- 
marked the  change  in  Dulcie,  it  was  only  sharp  little 
Lilah  who  connected  it  with  Alwyne's  marriage.  She 
had  seen  at  Nice  that  Dulcie  was  in  love  with  her  cousin,  and 
had  declared  that  Mrs.  Yernon  only  left  them  and  returned 
to  England  in  order  to  get  rid  of  Alwyne ;  and,  although 
she  was  extremely  puzzled  to  know  why  so  eligible  a 
young  man  had  been  rejected  by  Dulcie's  mother,  she  felt 
certain  in  her  own  mind  that  the  change  in  Dulcie  was  to 
be  attributed  to  Alwyne's  marriage.  She  spoke  purposely 
of  Alwyne  and  his  bride  in  Dulcie's  presence,  watching 
her  the  while  with  lynx  eyes,  and  she  noted,  with  a  cer- 
tain pride  in  her  own  discrimination,  that  a  faint  color 
came  to  the  girl's  cheeks  and  that  she  showed  some  slight 
embarrassment. 

Lilah,  with  a  desire  of  offering  consolation  to  the  victim 
of  her  scalpel,  spoke  in  a  disparaging  way  of  Lady  Lucy, 
declared  that  she  was  fast  and  horsey  and  that  there  was 
no  doubt  she  had  a  temper,  in  which  case  she  and  Alwyne 
would  soon  come  to  blows,  as  he  had  the  very  worst  tem- 
per in  the  world  and  was  so  spoiled  and  selfish  that  he 
could  not  bear  the  least  contradiction.  Indeed,  she,  Lilah, 
pitied  any  poor  wretch  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  his 
wife. 

Dulcie  made  no  remark  in  answer,  although  she  bitterly 


ONCE  AGAIN.  209 

resented  Lilah's  words  in  her  heart ;  but  she  had  always 
looked  upon  her  as  a  peevish,  sharp-tongued,  disagreeable 
little  creature. 

Sir  John  did  his  utmost  to  amuse  and  cheer  Dulcie. 
Always  kindly  and  benevolently  disposed,  he  was  now  so 
brimful  of  happiness  that  he  burned  to  make  every  one 
about  him  happy  too,  and  could  not  tolerate  the  idea  of 
her  being  miserable.  So  much  attention,  indeed,  did  he 
show  her  that  Mrs.  Chester's  hopes  began  to  revive  and 
poor  Grace  suffered  keen  pangs  of  jealousy,  thinking  that 
perhaps  after  all  Mrs.  Herbert  had  been  mistaken  in  sup- 
posing his  heart  to  be  given  to  Mrs.  Chandos. 

But  this  impression  did  not  last  a  moment  after  she  had 
seen  him  in  Eeine's  presence.  Then  she  knew  beyond  a 
doubt  that  Mrs.  Herbert  had  told  her  the  simple  truth. 
There  was  an  expression  in  his  eyes,  a  ring  in  his  voice, 
when  he  spoke  to  Mrs.  Chandos,  that  would  have  betrayed 
him  to  the  merest  tyro  in  love's  ways.  In  spite  of  Mrs. 
Herbert's  warnings,  he  could  not  conceal  the  delight  he 
felt  in  Eeine's  presence.  In  London  it  had  been  different; 
but  now  that  she  was  here,  here  in  his  own  house,  he  felt 
as  though  he  had  a  new  prerogative  to  love  her  and  to  be 
happy.  Whether  Keine  read  what  was  written  so  legibly 
in  his  face  or  no,  she  made  no  sign,  but  treated  him  with 
frank  kindness  and  without  a  shade  of  embarrassment. 
She  was  in  excellent  spirits,  delighted  to  be  once  more 
with  Mrs.  Herbert,  of  whom  she  was  exceedingly  fond, 
charmed  with  the  dower-house,  in  unusually  good  health 
and  spirits,  and  quite  in  tune  to  enjoy  the  simple  pleasures 
of  the  country.  Both  she  and  Mrs.  Herbert  loved  to  be 
in  the  air  and  were  fond  of  driving,  and  there  were  plenty 
of  pretty  drives  in  the  neighborhood. 

Jack  was  constantly  at  the  house,  and  Eeine  still  affected 
to  laugh  at  her  friend  and  to  rally  her  upon  his  attention  ; 
and,  as  Mrs.  Herbert  wished  to  give  him  every  opportunity 
of  being  in  Eeine's  presence,  she  smilingly  accepted  the 
impeachment. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  my  dear  boy,"  she  said  confidently 
to  Jack,  for  by  this  time  they  were  on  the  most  familiar 
and  friendly  terms, — "  There  is  one  thing  that  I  positively 
dare  not  do  for  you,  and  that  is  to  leave  you  alone  with 
Eeine.  If  I  did,  her  suspicions  would  be  aroused  at  once : 
o  18* 


210  ONCE  AGAIN. 

BO,  much  as  I  hate  being  third,  I  must  for  the  present  con- 
tinue to  play  that  obnoxious  part." 

Of  course  Jack  had  the  good  manners  to  assure  her  that 
never,  under  any  circumstances,  could  her  society  be 
aught  but  delightful ;  and  she  smiled,  and  said  that  per- 
haps some  day  she  might  be  able  to  convince  him  *!  :>  the 
contrary,  and  that  she  ardently  desired  the  advent  of  that 
time. 

He  was  compelled  to  make  constant  pretexts  for  being 
in  the  company  of  his  two  dear  ladies,  and,  to  that  end, 
suggested  frequent  picnics  and  excursions,  and,  though 
this  form  of  entertainment  was  not  especially  grateful  to 
either  Mrs.  Herbert  or  Eeine,  they  were  amiable  enough  to 
sacrifice  themselves  with  a  good  grace  to  the  general  weal. 

So  two  or  three  young  men  and  maidens  from  the 
neighborhood  were  bidden  to  swell  the  party,  and  one  of 
the  former,  an  extremely  eligible  youth,  fell  forthwith 
desperately  in  love  with  Dulcie,  to  her  extreme  discon- 
certment as  well  as  to  the  annoyance  of  her  mother.  To 
be  ambitious  and  to  have  a  pretty  daughter  whom  various 
men  of  position  and  fortune  were  burning  to  make  their 
own,  and  to  have  her  secretly  married  to  an  obscure  young 
soldier  with  whose  lot  she  declined  to  cast  in  her  own,  was 
a  dispensation  so  unbearable  that  one  can  scarcely  wonder 
if  it  drove  poor  Mrs.  Yernon  to  the  verge  of  madness. 

And  presently  a  new  complication  ensued.  Alwyne, 
whose  place  was  some  thirty  miles  distant  from  his  cousin's, 
wrote  to  say  that  he  and  his  wife  had  arrived  there,  and 
would  drive  over  in  his  phaeton,  sending  on  horses  half- 
way, and  spend  a  couple  of  nights  at  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Chester,  on  receipt  of  this  communication,  felt 
slightly  embarrassed.  Kemembering  what  had  happened 
in  the  winter,  she  thought  it  probable  that  a  meeting 
might  neither  be  agreeable  to  the  Yernons  nor  to  Alwyne. 
She  called  her  son  into  council. 

"  Alwyne  knows  that  the  Yernons  are  here,"  answered 
Jack.  "I  was  writing  to  him  the  other  day,  and  men- 
tioned it.  I  dare  say  it  is  just  a  little  bit  of  bravado  on 
his  part,  to  show  them  that  he  did  not  take  his  rejection 
at  all  to  heart ;  but,  of  course,  before  we  invite  him  and 
his  wife  here  we  must  find  out  whether  Mrs.  Yernon  and 
her  daughter  object  to  meeting  him." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  211 

So  Mrs.  Chester  put  the  matter  as  delicately  as  possible 
to  Mrs.  Yernon,  and  that  lady,  with  a  bland  and  serene 
face,  declared  that  it  would  give  them  great  pleasure  to 
meet  Mr.  Temple  and  to  make  Lady  Lucy's  acquaintance. 

In  her  secret  heart  she  did  not  like  the  idea  at  all.  Be- 
lieving Alwyne  to  be  absolutely  unprincipled  and  her 
daughter  idiotically  weak,  she  felt  no  certainty  whatever 
as  to  the  result  of  a  meeting  between  them.  She  deter- 
mined, however,  to  keep  Argus-eyes  upon  both  of  them, 
and,  as  the  visit  was  to  be  so  short,  she  hardly  thought 
much  danger  could  accrue  from  it.  In  the  role  of  bride- 
groom, too,  Alwyne  would  be  compelled,  for  decency's 
sake,  to  show  a  great  deal  of  attention  to  his  bride. 


CHAPTEE  XXI Y. 

DULCIE  did  not  hear  of  the  approaching  visit  until  that 
evening  at  dinner,  when  Lilah  made  allusion  to  it. 

Her  heart  fainted  within  her :  she  turned  waxen  white, 
and  could  not  eat  another  morsel.  No  one  looked  at  her 
or  seemed  to  remark  her  discomposure^  and  as  soon  as 
dinner  was  over  she  went  to  her  room.  She  felt  as 
though  she  would  rather  do  anything  in  the  world  than 
meet  Alwyne  under  these  new  circumstances,  now  that  it 
was  assured  beyond  all  assurance  that  henceforth  he  could 
be  nothing  to  her  or  she  to  him. 

Her  marriage  in  the  registry-office  had  seemed  an  un- 
«.eal  kind  of  thing  which  might  by  some  means  or  other 
be  got  over ;  but  he  had  been  married  in  church  before  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  and  his  ties  were  irrevocable,  knitted 
by  the  Church,  by  law,  by  society.  How  would  he  meet 
her?  Did  he  know  she  was  here?  Surely  not,  or  he 
would  hardly  have  been  so  cruel  as  to  put  her  to  the  pain 
of  seeing  him  under  these  changed  and  hopeless  circum- 
stances. Even  now  she  clung  to  the  belief  that  he  must 
still  love  her,  and  had  only  married  from  pique  or  despair. 
She  sat  a  long  time  at  her  open  window,  looking  out  at 
the  moonlit  garden,  but  seeing  nothing,  thinking  only 
her  miserable  thoughts,  until  a  tap  came  at  the  door,  and 


212  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Grace  asked  softly  whether  she  would  not  come  down  and 
join  in  a  round  game. 

She  did  not  dare  refuse  the  summons,  but  accompanied 
Grace  to  the  drawing-room  and  took  the  chair  that  had 
been  placed  for  her  next  Sir  John.  She  played  mechani- 
cally, like  one  in  a  dream ;  but  Jack  insisted  on  her  bank- 
ing with  him,  directed  her  play,  and  did  his  best  to  avert 
attention  from  her  obviously  distraite  manner.  Her 
mother  glanced  at  her  with  covert  scorn  and  resentment, 
incensed  at  her  folly  in  wearing  her  heart  so  plainly  on 
her  sleeve. 

Mrs.  Vernon  rarely  now  saw  or  spoke  to  Dulcie  in 
private,  but  she  took  occasion  that  evening  to  follow  her 
to  her  room. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  in  a  hard  voice,  "  that  you  are 
not  particularly  anxious  to  give  people  the  impression 
that  you  are  pining  for  Mr.  Temple :  therefore  it  would  be 
as  well  in  future  to  exercise  a  little  more  control  over 
yourself,  and  not  to  wear  the  willow  quite  so  plainly  as 
you  did  to-night.  If  you  have  any  self-respect,  you  will 
not,  when  he  arrives,  give  him  the  gratification  of  seeing 
how  mortified  you  are  by  his  marriage." 

Dulcie  neither  looked  at  nor  replied  to  her  mother ;  a 
sullen  resentment  overspread  her  heart;  and,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  Mrs.  Yernon  turned  and  left  the  room. 

Alwyne  had  informed  his  aunt  by  letter  that  he  and 
Lady  Lucy  would  arrive  in  time  for  dinner.  They  were 
a  little  late,  and  every  one  went  to  dress  except  Mrs. 
Chester  and  Sir  John,  who  waited  to  receive  them.  Dulcie 
thus  escaped  meeting  Alwyne  until  the  party  assembled 
for  dinner.  Mrs.  Herbert  and  Mrs.  Chandos  came  from 
the  dower-house,  and  two  men  from  the  neighborhood  had 
been  asked,  to  lessen  the  great  preponderance  of  the  fair 
Bex. 

The  line  which  Alwyne  had  selected  was  very  soon 
manifest.  He  greeted  Dulcie  as  though  she  were  the 
merest  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Yernon  with  distant  hauteur, 
and,  having  once  exchanged  with  her  the  necessary  greet- 
ing, never  looked  at  nor  spoke  to  her  again  during  the 
evening. 

He  was  delightful  to  the  ladies  from  the  dower-house, 
pleasantly  patronizing  to  his  aunt  and  Lilah,  but  his  par- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  213 

ticular  attentions  were  reserved  for  his  bride,  of  whom  it 
seemed  as  though  he  could  not  make  enough.  He  scarcely 
took  his  eyes  off  her ;  if  he  was  not  speaking  to  her,  he 
brought  her  name  unceasingly  into  the  conversation ;  his 
directions  to  the  servants  about  "  her  ladyship's"  wants 
and  comforts  were  a  little  more  ostentatious  than  was 
compatible  with  good  taste. 

As  for  Lady  Lucy,  she  accepted  his  attentions  with  per- 
fect good  humor,  if  a  little  cavalierly,  and  chatted  away 
after  her  own  somewhat  slangy  fashion  with  great  fluency 
and  amiability.  She  was  rather  pretty,  and  perfectly  un- 
affected ;  had  her  hair  cut  short  like  a  boy,  laughed  rather 
loudly,  and  talked  a  great  deal  to  Sir  John  about  horses, 
racing,  and  equine  matters  generally. 

After  dinner,  Alwyne  hovered  about  her,  insisted  on  her 
singing,  stood  by  the  piano  in  rapt  attention  during  the 
somewhat  mediocre  performance,  frowning  if  he  heard 
the  smallest  whisper  among  the  company.  He  was  look- 
ing very  handsome  and  distinguished,  and  his  manner,  a 
trifle  dictatorial  and  self-important  to  every  one  else,  was 
charming  to  his  wife. 

Sharp-eyed  Lilah  was  perhaps  the  only  one  who  quite 
saw  through  him. 

"  I  think,"  she  confided  afterwards  to  Grace,  "  that 
Alwyne  is  more  detestable  than  ever.  That  was  his 
put-on  manner  to-night,  and  was  only  done  to  aggravate 
bulcie  Yernon  and  to  make  out  that  he  did  not  care  two 
straws  about  her  having  refused  him.  So  snobbish  of 
him,  too,  to  keep  on  about  '  her  ladyship/  letting  every 
one  see  how  proud  he  is  of  having  married  an  earl's 
daughter." 

Grace,  who  only  saw  in  Alwyne  a  very  handsome  young 
man,  devoted  to  his  wife,  thought  Lilah  very  unjust ;  but 
she  did  not  say  so,  having  already  discovered  that  it  was 
unproductive  of  comfort  or  harmony  to  contradict  the 
little  tyrant. 

Poor  Dulcie  was  cut  to  the  heart.  She  suffered  all  that 
Alwyne's  revengeful  spirit  desired  that  she  should  suffer ; 
his  manner  convinced  her  that  she  was  ousted  from  his 
heart,  and  that  the  devotion  she  had  once  inspired  was 
transferred  to  his  wife.  Yet,  she  thought  bitterly,  since 
he  was  so  happy  and  triumphant,  he  might  have  had  a 


214  ONCE  AGAIN. 

kind  word  for  her:  he  need  not  have  treated  her  with 
such  marked  and  cruel  indifference.  She  wept  bitterly 
far  into  the  night ;  she  was  suffering  the  most  poignant 
anguish  she  had  ever  felt ;  and,  for  the  first  time,  the 
thought  dawned  across  her  that  she  too  had  been  cruel, 
and  had  caused  bitter  and  unnecessary  pain  to  Noel  by 
her  heartless  treatment  of  him. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  picnic,  and  a  tolerably  large 
party  assembled  at  the  hall  about  mid-day.  Dulcie's 
latest  admirer  was  of  the  party,  and  testified  his  love-lorn 
condition  in  the  most  ingenuous  manner. 

Now,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  Alwyne,  whose  one 
object  had  hitherto  been  to  evince  in  the  most  marked 
manner  his  absolute  indifference  to  Miss  Yernon,  was 
vastly  displeased  to  see  the  post  which  he  had  so  con- 
temptuously disclaimed  any  wish  for,  occupied  by  some 
one  else.  It  quite  distracted  him  from  his  attention  to  his 
wife,  and  produced  a  disagreeable  effect  on  his  temper, 
making  him  perverse  and  contradictory  and  disposed  to 
quarrel  with  every  suggestion  made  for  the  general  welfare 
and  pleasure. 

Sir  John  drove  Dulcie,  Lilah,  Grace,  Dulcie's  admirer, — 
Mr.  Lister, — and  another  man,  in  the  break,  and,  imagin- 
ing that  the  devoted  bridegroom  would  not  like  to  be 
parted  from  his  adored  one,  had  arranged  that  they  should 
drive  in  Alwyne's  phaeton.  Lady  Lucy  insisted  on  taking 
the  reins,  and  during  the  greater  part  of  the  way  Alwyne 
grumbled  and  found  fault  with  her  coachmanship  and 
exhibited  himself  in  an  altogether  different  fashion  from 
that  he  had  done  the  previous  evening.  But  Lady  Lucy 
seemed  absolutely  indifferent  to  his  ill  humor,  and  simply 
laughed  at  him  and  bade  him  "shut  up"  and  not  be  a 
brute. 

During  the  al  fresco  luncheon  Alwyne's  displeasure  in- 
creased at  seeing  the  slavish  attentions  of  George  Lister 
to  Dulcie.  She  accepted  them  gently  enough,  for  she  was 
HO  abjectly  miserable  that  her  one  thought  was  to  conceal 
her  pain  from  the  eyes  of  those  present ;  and  she  there- 
fore feigned  an  interest  in  his  conversation  which  she  was 
very  far  from  feeling.  By  the  end  of  luncheon  Alwyne's 
wrath  had  reached  boiling-point,  and,  with  his  usual  wilful 
disregard  of  what  any  one  might  think,  he  approached 


ONCE  AGAIN  215 

Dulcie  and  invited  her  to  walk  with  him  to  see  some  view 
in  the  neighborhood.  Lister,  however,  showed  no  inten- 
tion of  quitting  her  side :  so,  after  they  had  walked  a 
few  paces,  Alwyne  turned  sharply  round  upon  him  and 
said, — 

"My  dear  chap,  I  dare  say  you  know  the  old  saying 
that  '  two  is  company.*  Miss  Yernon  is  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  and  I  have  not  spoken  to  her  for  an  age ;  whereas 
you  have  had  the  privilege,  no  doubt,  every  day  lately. 
Perhaps  you  will  let  me  escort  her  now,  and  when  I 
bring  her  back  I  promise  not  to  interfere  with  your 
claims." 

Lister  looked  furious. 

"  If  Miss  Yernon  wishes  to  be  rid  of  my  company,  I 
will  go  at  once,"  he  said,  appealing  eagerly  to  Dulcie; 
but  she  remained  silent  with  downcast  eyes.  He  was 
therefore  compelled  to  take  her  silence  as  a  proof  that  his 
society  was  not  welcome ;  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he 
turned  on  his  heel,  desperately  vexed  and  wounded. 

Sir  John  and  Eeine,  who  were  both  witnesses  of  this 
little  episode,  felt  extremely  uncomfortable  on  Lady  Lucy's 
account,  and  proceeded  in  concert  to  make  themselves 
agreeable  to  her  in  order  to  divert  her  attention  from  her 
husband's  strange  behavior,  and  Mrs.  Herbert,  with  quick 
intuition,  ably  seconded  them.  But  Lady  Lucy  was  evi- 
dently not  one  whit  disconcerted  or  displeased  at  Alwyne's 
absence,  and  laughed  and  chatted  away  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  Lister  attached  himself  to  Lilah  and  Grace,  as 
being  the  nearest  approach  to  the  rose,  and  the  other 
young  men  and  maidens  paired  off  and  were  soon  lost  in 
the  sylvan  arcades.  Mrs.  Chester  and  Mrs.  Yernon  were 
not  of  the  party,  having  thankfully  relegated  to  the  ladies 
from  the  dower-house  the  duties  of  chaperonage. 

Now  that  Alwyne  had  carried  off  Dulcie  in  triumph,  he 
did  not  appear  to  have  very  much  to  say  to  her.  She  was 
trembling  in  every  limb ;  her  eyes  were  averted  from 
him ;  her  embarrassment  was  evident.  Eemarking  his 
power  over  her,  Alwyne  received  the  necessary  stimulus 
to  his  revengeful  instincts. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  cruel  banter,  "that  I 
was  doing  Lister  a  kindness  in  taking  you  away  from  him. 
You  know  it's  deuced  hard  on  men  to  go  on  losing  their 


216  ONCE  AGAIN. 

hearts  to  you  under  the  impression  that  you  are" — "  fair 
game,"  he  was  going  to  say,  but  changed  it  to  "  eligible. 

What  has  become  of  Mr. ?  I  forget  his  name;  and 

how  much  longer  are  you  going  to  keep  him  in  the  back- 
ground ?" 

The  brutal  bad  taste  of  his  remark  was  less  obvious  to 
Dulcie  than  his  cruelty.  Tears  trembled  on  her  lashes  and 
fell :  he  saw  them,  but  they  only  goaded  him  on  to  an  in- 
creased desire  to  hurt  her. 

"  It  really  is  an  infernal  shame,"  he  continued.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  intend  to  let  this  wretched  devil  Lister  break  his 
heart  about  you.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  him  the  truth,  or 
shall  you  wait  until  Mr.  What's-his-name  pounces  upon 
him  from  behind  a  tree  or  somewhere?  By  Jove!  you 
made  me  miserable  enough,  I  know ;  and  if  I  had  not  met 
Lucy,  who's  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,  I  might  have 
blown  my  brains  out,  or  gone  to  the  devil,  or  God  knows 
what!" 

Dulcie  had  very  little  dignity,  but  she  was  stung  into 
replying,— 

"  It  is  most  fortunate  that  you  did  meet  her." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is.  But  I  don't  suppose  such  luck  is 
in  store  for  every  man;  and  I  do  say,  as  I  said  before,  that 
it  is  an  infernal  shame  your  going  about  sailing  under  false 
colors.  Of  course  as  long  as  a  man  does  not  see  or  know 
of  any  other  fellow  hanging  about  you,  he  always  thinks 
he  has  a  chance." 

"  I  have  never  given  Mr.  Lister  the  smallest  encourage- 
ment," cried  Dulcie,  indignantly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  encouragement,"  retorted 
Alwyne.  "  I  should  call  your  behavior  to  him  at  lunch 
very  decided  encouragement.  Perhaps  you  don't  consider 
that  you  encouraged  me  ?" 

Dulcie  was  silent.  She  felt  unutterably  miserable  :  she 
dared  not  say  to  him  what  was  in  her  heart :  "  You  know 
that  I  loved  you,  and  that  I  hoped  to  be  your  wife  in 
time."  He  was  married:  it  was  no  use  raking  up  the 
past  or  confessing  her  humiliation.  If  he  could  forget  so 
soon,  it  ill  beseemed  her  to  show  that  she  remembered. 

But  Alwyne's  appetite  for  revenge  grew  in  exercising  it, 
and  he  went  on. 

"Where  is  your  husband  now?"  he  asked. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  217 

Even  a  worm  will  turn.  Dulcie,  who  had  no  wit,  no 
readiness  whatever  at  cut  and  thrust  in  repartee,  was 
goaded  beyond  endurance. 

"  If  you  only  brought  me  here  to  say  these  things  to 
me,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  go  back  to  the  rest  of  the  party. 
You  are  married ;  you  are  happy :  leave  me  and  my  misery 
alone !" 

"  Oh.  by  all  means,"  returned  Alwyne,  in  a  lofty  tone. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon :  I  will  not  presume  to  mention  your 
affairs  again.  Still,  as  we  have  come  so  far,  we  may  as 
well  go  on  and  see  the  view  that  I  was  supposed  to  show 
you."  And  for  the  rest  of  the  way  he  discoursed  entirely 
about  his  wife  and  her  family,  the  delightful  trip  they  had 
made  in  their  honeymoon,  the  beauties  of  his  own  place, 
his  horses,  his  dogs, — on  everything,  in  fact,  that  tended 
to  his  own  self-exaltation  and  to  show  Dulcie  what  a  loss 
she  had  sustained  in  him.  Their  tete-a-tete  lasted  somo 
three-quarters  of  an  hour.  Never  had  Dulcie  experienced 
such  bitter  mortification.  She  was  not  shrewd  enough  to 
see  that,  had  Alwyne  felt  the  indifference  he  professed,  he 
would  not  have  been  at  such  pains  to  testify  it  to  her,  but 
would  rather  have  been  disposed  to  be  the  more  kind  and 
considerate. 

The  pair  rejoined  their  companions  in  very  different 
frames  of  mind.  Alwyne  was  jubilant  in  the  extreme : 
the  gratification  of  his  revenge  had  warmed  his  heart  and 
made  him  almost  boisterously  good-humored.  He  threw 
himself  down  at  his  wife's  feet,  called  her  "  little  woman," 
"  darling,"  and  various  other  endearing  epithets,  and  she 
received  his  advances  with  the  same  good-tempered  indif- 
ference with  which  she  had  taken  his  absence. 

As  for  Dulcie,  she  could  not  command  her  face  to  any 
show  of  cheerfulness,  and  after  what  Alwyne  had  said  she 
was  positively  terrified  of  appearing  to  give  the  smallest 
encouragement  to  George  Lister.  And  suppose,  she 
thought,  Alwyne  betrayed  her,  and  the  fact  of  her  secret 
marriage  were  to  get  abroad.  She  had  no  guarantee  that 
he  would  not  confide  her  dreadful  secret  to  his  wife,  and 
she  no  doubt  would  tell  every  one,  and  perhaps  make  a 
jest  of  it.  Then  she,  Dulcie,  would  be  eternally  disgraced 
and  undone.  Why  had  she  not  taken  advantage  of  being 
alone  with  him  to  implore  him  to  keep  her  secret  ?  She 
K  19 


218  ONCE  AGAIN. 

must  do  so  yet ;  but  when  would  she  have  another  oppor- 
tunity ? 

This  thought  entirely  engrossed  her  mind,  so  that  she 
did  not  even  hear  what  George  Lister  was  saying  to  her, 
or  take  any  account  of  the  tender  reproaches  he  was 
pouring  into  her  ear.  At  first  on  her  return  with  Alwyne 
he  had  tried  to  sulk  with  her,  but,  finding  that  she  did 
not  even  appear  to  remark  this  exhibition  of  his  resent- 
ment, he  abandoned  it,  and  endeavored  to  appeal  to  her 
better  feelings.  Both  tactics  were  equally  unsuccessful. 
He  therefore,  after  the  nature  of  his  kind,  waxed  more 
deeply  in  love  at  every  fresh  proof  of  her  indifference. 

How  should  she  procure  another  interview  with  Alwyne 
in  order  to  throw  herself  upon  his  clemency  and  to  en- 
treat his  silence  ? 

This  thought  occupied  her  the  whole  afternoon. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  all  the  members  of  the  picnic- 
party  should  dine  at  the  hall  that  evening,  and  after  they 
had  boiled  their  kettle  and  drunk  smoky  tea  with  apparent 
relish  they  prepared  to  return  home  in  the  same  order  in 
which  they  had  come.  Dulcie  was  not  near  enough  to 
Alwyne  to  exchange  a  word  with  him. 

As  she  was  descending  to  the  drawing-room  before  din- 
ner, she  saw  him  on  the  stairs  in  front  of  her. 

aMr.  Temple,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  accelerating  her 
speed. 

He  turned. 

"  I  must  speak  to  you,"  she  whispered,  in  a  hurried, 
agitated  voice,  coming  up  with  him. 

At  this  moment  steps  were  heard  in  the  corridor  above 
them. 

"  I  will  meet  you  in  the  garden  after  dinner,"  he  said. 
"  By  the  limes.  I  will  go  out  the  moment  we  leave  the 
dining-room." 

Dulcie  would  have  demurred,  but  there  was  no  time. 
And,  after  all,  she  did  not  much  mind  how  or  where  she 
met  him,  so  long  as  she  could  prevail  upon  him  to  keep 
her  secret. 

When  the  ladies  left  the  dining-room  she  went  to  her 
room  to  wait  until  it  was  time  to  keep  her  tryst. 

The  evening  was  lovely.  The  long  twilight  had  not 
yet  faded  out ;  there  were  still  rosy  gleams  athwart  the 


ONCE  AGAIN.  219 

western  sky.  Presently  she  crept  down-stairs,  and,  going 
out  through  the  French  window  of  the  morning-room, 
took  her  way  to  the  limes.  There  was  a  bench  fieneath 
the  largest  of  them,  and  there  she  seated  herself  and 
waited  with  what  patience  she  might  for  the  coming  of 
her  whilom  lover,  now  turned  into  a  bitter  and  revenge- 
ful foe. 

Poor  Dulcie !  all  joy  and  hope  had  gone  out  of  her  life : 
she  saw  nothing  before  her  but  wretchedness  and  despair. 

A  step  on  the  gravel,  and  Alwyne,  flushed,  triumphant, 
handsome,  stood  before  her.  He  was  a  little  excited  at 
the  situation  ;  he  had  a  pleasant  sense  that  he  was  doing 
something  a  trifle  hazardous  and  not  quite  right,  and  he 
had.  besides,  a  delightful  feeling  that  he  was  scoring  over 
Lister.  He  had  come  with  no  wrong  intent  of  any  sort, 
but,  as  he  looked  at  Dulcie,  her  fairness,  which  was  of  the 
type  he  most  admired,  smote  him  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
loss,  and  he  felt  something  of  the  old  tenderness  for  her 
creeping  back  to  his  heart. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  a  softened  voice,  with  signs  of  melt- 
ing in  his  handsome  eyes,  "  I  have  come.  What  can  I  do 
for  you?" 

And  with  that  he  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  her, 
and,  swayed  by  sudden  impulse,  took  her  hand.  Her  one 
thought  was  to  propitiate  him,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to 
draw  it  away.  She  had  so  utterly  relinquished  all  idea 
that  he  cared  for  her  that  his  action  was  without  any  sig- 
nificance. 

She  looked  at  him  with  appealing  eyes :  her  voice 
faltered  and  trembled.  The  evidence  of  her  weakness 
touched  all  his  senses.  Lucy  had  no  weaknesses. 

"  Oh,"  she  almost  gasped,  "  I  implore  you  to  have  pity 
on  me  and  not  to  betray  my  dreadful  secret !  If  any  one 
knew  it,  I  should  die  outright." 

And  here  she  fell  to  weeping. 

"  My  poor  little  girl,  don't  cry !"  said  Alwyne,  greatly 
touched.  "Of  course  I  won't.  What  do  you  take  me 
for?" 

He  clasped  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked  tenderly 
in  her  face,  feeling  repentant  for  his  cruelty  of  the  after- 
noon. 

"I  was  a  brute  to-day,"  he  went  on,  penitently,  "but  I 


220  ONCE  AGAIN. 

did  not  mean  it.  I  swear  no  one  shall  ever  hear  the  least 
word  from  me.  You  know,"  his  tone  growing  very  soft, 
"  I  was  awfully  fond  of  you,  and,  though  of  course  that  is 
all  over  now,  I  could  not  help  feeling  savage  when  I  saw 
that  ass  Lister  making  love  to  you." 

Considering  that  it  was  all  over,  his  gaze  was  rather 
ardent,  his  manner  extremely  tender,  and  the  pressure  of 
his  hands  not  altogether  indicative  of  a  burnt-out  flame. 
But  propinquity  is  admittedly  dangerous. 

"  Oh,"  cried  poor  Dulcie,  feeling  this  moment  as  though 
he  were  the  only  friend  she  had  in  the  world,  "do  not  bo 
unkind  to  me  any  more !  If  you  knew  how  wretched  I 
am,  you  would  be  sorry  for  me." 

"  My  poor  dear  little  girl !"  uttered  Alwyne,  genuinely 
touched.  And,  without  any  evil  intent,  he  yielded  to  the 
strong  temptation  that  seized  him,  and,  putting  his  arm 
round  her,  drew  her  head  tenderly  on  his  breast.  And  at 
this  precise  moment,  George  Lister,  with  furious  eyes, 
stood  before  them,  crying,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  rage, — 

"By  God!  this  is  too  bad  !" 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

ALWYNE  and  Dulcie  sprang  to  their  feet, — the  man  full 
of  wrath,  the  girl  of  terror. 

"  D — n  you !  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  spying  here  ?" 
cried  Alwyne,  and  he  aimed  a  blow  at  Lister  which  sent 
him  reeling.  Eecovering  himself,  George  sprang  upon  h!s 
foe  like  a  bull-dog,  and  in  a  moment  the  two  were  engaged 
in  mortal  combat. 

Dulcie  shrieked  aloud,  and  her  shrieks  brought  speedy 
aid  in  the  person  of  Jack,  who  had  missed  the  two  men, 
and  was  searching  for  them  to  join  in  a  dance  which  had 
been  proposed  in  the  drawing-room. 

Horrified  at  the  sight  which  greeted  him,  he  flung  him- 
self upon  the  combatants. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  he  cried.  "  Do  you  want  to  raise  the 
whole  house  ?" 

Quivering  with  rage,  perhaps  not  wholly  unmixed  with 


ONCE  AGAIN.  221 

shame,  the  two  men  stood  panting  and  glaring  at  each 
other. 

"  Pray,  Miss  Vernon,  go  in  at  once !"  said  Jack ;  and, 
terrified  as  she  was,  Dulcie  could  not  fail  to  remark  the 
stern  displeasure  of  his  tone.  She  crept  away,  feeling  the 
most  guilty  and  miserable  wretch  in  the  world.  What 
awful  Nemesis  perpetually  dogged  her  footsteps  and  led 
her  into  the  most  appalling  situations !  An  agonized  fear 
smote  her  that  Lister  would  tell  what  he  had  seen,  that 
this  terrible  affray  would  soon  be  public  property,  and  that 
she  was  for  evermore  disgraced  and  ruined.  Wild  visions 
of  flight  sped  across  her  brain :  she  would  never  be  able 
to  face  her  mother  if  this  fearful  story  were  made  known 
to  her.  Cowering  and  terrified,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
she  took  her  way  to  her  room. 

Meantime,  Jack,  full  of  righteous  wrath,  was  giving  the 
combatants  a  piece  of  his  mind,  and  they  received  it  very 
much  as  hounds  with  guilty  consciences  take  a  rating. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  a  nice  gentlemanlike 
thing,  to  maul  each  other  like  two  costermongers  before  a 
lady !  And  you,  Alwyne,  with  a  wife !  A  pretty  figure 
you  will  cut  in  this  disgraceful  business !  For  God's  sake 
get  away  quietly  to  your  own  room,  and  stop  there  till  I 
come  to  you !  George,  I  must  get  you  in  the  back  way 
somehow." 

For  poor  Lister's  nose  was  ignobly  dripping  blood  be- 
yond the  powers  of  a  handkerchief  to  control,  and  his 
shirt-front  bore  fearful  testimony  to  the  fray. 

Jack  succeeded  in  getting  his  guest  by  the  back  stair- 
case to  his  own  room,  and,  when  his  friend's  nose  was  suf- 
ficiently stanched  to  make  conversation  possible,  he  sternly 
requested  an  explanation. 

"The  scoundrel!"  cried  George,  with  many  adjectives 
and  expletives.  "  Only  married  a  month,  too !  And  God 
knows,"  with  a  gulp  in  his  throat,  "  how  I  loved  that  girl ! 
My  greatest  hope  in  the  world  was  to  marry  her.  I  missed 
her  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and  then  I  saw  him  sneak 
off,  and  I  was  determined  he  should  rot  be  alone  with  her: 
so  in  a  minute  or  two  I  went  after  them,  and  there  I  found 
the  blackguard  with  the  girl  in  his  arms." 

"Well?"  said  Jack,  who  was  horrified  in  his  mind, 
thinking  of  poor  Lady  Lucy  as  well  as  of  Dulcie,  and 

19* 


222  ONCE  AGAIN. 

cursing  Alwyne  in  his  heart  for  an  unprincipled  scoun- 
drel. 

"  Well,  my  feelings  got  the  better  of  me,  and  I  con- 
fronted them  and  cried  out  that  it  was  too  bad,  and  he 

started  up  and  struck  out  at  me.  But,  by ,  he  has  not 

heard  the  last  of  it  I  I'll  fight  him.  By I  will  I" 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,"  returned  Jack,  coolly.  "  If 
you  are  a  gentleman,  as  until  to-night  I  took  you  to  be, 
you  won't  bring  disgrace  and  misery  upon  two  poor  inno- 
cent women, — at  all  events,"  correcting  himself,  "  upon 
one." 

"It  wasn't  her  fault,  I  swear!"  cried  George,  flaring  up 
in  her  defence :  "  it  was  his.  He  always  was  an  infernal 
blackguard  about  women :  you  know  he  was,  though  he 
is  your  cousin." 

Jack  had  not  the  smallest  inclination  to  defend  Alwyne, 
with  whom  he  was  furious. 

"  Look  here,  George,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Miss  Yernon 
is  under  my  roof,  and,  as  my  guest,  any  one  who  causes 
trouble  or  annoyance  to  her  has  to  answer  to  me.  You 
have  got  to  swear  on  your  honor  as  a  gentleman,  before 
you  leave  this  room,  that  you  will  never  breathe  a  word 
to  living  soul  about  having  seen  her  in  Alwyne's  arms. 
If  you  have  any  further  quarrel  with  him,  the  whole 
thing  is  bound  to  come  out;  and  that  I  swear  it  shall 
not." 

Lister  was  a  young  fellow  of  honorable  instincts. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  "  that  I  would 
hurt  a  hair  of  the  girl's  head  ?" 

And  then,  poor  boy,  overcome  by  his  feelings,  he  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  gave  a  convulsive  sob. 

"I  did  love  her  so!"  he  went  on,  presently;  and  Jack, 
greatly  touched,  his  honest  heart  full  of  sympathy,  laid  a 
kind  hand  on  Lister's  shoulder,  saying, — 

"  It  is  awful  hard  lines,  poor  old  chap.  Don't  think  too 
badly  of  the  girl,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause.  "  You  know 
there  is  no  doubt  she  was  very  fond  of  Alwyne  last  winter, 
and  so  was  he  of  her,  and  then,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
no  one  knows  why,  her  mother  interfered  and  sent  him 
about  his  business.  And  I  dare  say  it  was  only  some  little 
explanation  they  were  having,  and  perhaps  neither  meant 
any  harm :  only  you  know  it  is  awfully  dangerous  for 


ONCE  AGAIN.  223 

people  to  be  out  in  the  moonlight  together,  and  I  wish  to 
heaven,"  wound  up  Jack,  vigorously,  "  that  you  had  had 
the  sense  to  keep  out  of  the  way." 

"  I  wish  I  had,  now,"  groaned  George. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  make 
the  best  story  I  can,"  said  Jack.  "  I  suppose  I  had  better 
order  your  trap  and  say  you've  gone  home  with  a  head- 
ache." 

"Yes,"  responded  Lister.  "I'll  get  in  at  the  stables. 
Send  my  coat  up  to  me  here  to  cover  myself  up  with." 

"  All  right.  I'll  ride  over  and  see  you  to-morrow.  And 
you  swear  to  keep  this  dark  ?" 

"  I  swear,  but  only  for  her  sake.  By  George,  I  should 
like " 

But  Jack  cut  him  short  by  leaving  the  room. 

The  ladies  were  waiting  in  wondering  expectation  for 
the  arrival  of  their  swains.  Jack  put  on  the  most  cheer- 
ful air  he  could  muster. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  shan't  manage  a  dance  to-night,"  he 
said.  "  Lister  has  gone  home  seedy,  and  I  can't  persuade 
Alwyne  to  leave  his  cigar,"  he  added,  mendaciously, 
hating  himself  for  having  to  tell  even  so  trifling  a  lie. 

"  I  will  go  and  fetch  him,"  cried  Lady  Lucy.  "  How 
lazy  of  him  !  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  I  saw  him  last  in  the  garden,"  answered  Jack,  fearful 
lest  she  should  seek  him  in  his  room. 

Lady  Lucy  ran  off  to  the  garden,  accompanied  by  the 
only  remaining  man,  and  Jack  went  to  his  cousin's  room 
to  see  what  traces  he  bore  of  the  fray. 

One  glance  at  him  showed  that  he  would  develop  a  fine 
black  eye  by  the  morrow,  and  so  disconcerted  was  Jack 
by  this  discovery  that  he  forgot  to  reproach  him. 

11  What  the  deuce  are  you  going  to  say  to  your  wife  ?" 
he  cried,  anxiously.  "  You  must  invent  something.  Say 
you  tumbled  over  the  roots  of  a  tree.  You  must  never  let 
out  one  word  of  this  to  a  soul.  Lister  is  gone ;  he  will 
hold  his  tongue ;  now  you  had  better  think  how  to  make 
your  story  good.  I  can't  stop,  or  people  will  begin  to 
fancy  there's  something  up." 

As  he  left  the  room,  it  occurred  to  Jack  that  there  was 
yet  another  person  to  be  thought  of.  Dulcie  was  proba- 
bly still  in  fear  and  trembling  and  uncertain  what  course 


224  ONCE  AGAIN. 

events  had  taken.  He  paused  to  think.  He  did  not  like 
the  idea  of  going  to  her  room,  but  still  less  did  he  like 
that  of  writing  to  her  and  sending  the  note  by  a  servant. 

He  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  corridor  where  her  room  was, 
and  tapped  softly  at  the  door.  She  opened  it  with  a 
scared  look,  and  his  heart  was  touched  by  compassion  in 
a  moment. 

"  Come  down-stairs/'  he  whispered,  gently.  "  Not  a 
soul  will  ever  know  a  word  of  what  has  happened ;  and  I 
hope  you  feel  that  you  can  trust  me." 

Without  another  word,  he  sped  noiselessly  away  and 
returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

But  Dulcie's  nerves  were  too  sorely  shaken  to  admit  of 
her  reappearing  in  public  that  night.  Believed  of  her 
worst  terrors,  she  hastened  to  disrobe,  and  when  Grace 
came  to  look  for  her  she  pleaded  fatigue  and  indisposition 
and  announced  her  intention  of  going  to  bed  at  once. 

Mrs.  Yernon  had  been  extremely  uncomfortable  mean- 
time. The  simultaneous  disappearance  of  Alwyne  and 
her  daughter  had  filled  her  with  apprehension,  and  when 
Grace  brought  word  that  Dulcie  had  gone  to  bed  with  a 
headache  she  was  by  no  means  reassured,  remembering 
what  had  come  of  her  pretended  headache  on  a  previous 
occasion. 

She,  however,  refrained  from  going  to  see  Dulcie :  it 
was  impossible,  she  felt,  despairingly,  to  contend  with  or 
overcome  her  folly :  so  she  left  her  to  her  fate.  On  in- 
quiring of  Morton  later  on,  she  elicited  that  Dulcie  really 
seemed  extremely  unwell ;  but  she  contented  herself  with 
recommending  the  maid  to  see  that  she  had  all  she 
wanted. 

Lady  Lucy  raced  all  over  the  grounds  in  pursuit  of  the 
recalcitrant  Alwyne,  but  in  vain.  Then  she  sought  him 
in  the  smoking-room,  with  no  better  success.  Finally  she 
proceeded  to  his  dressing-room ;  and  here  she  found  him. 
He  was  so  horribly  frightened  and  felt  so  guilty  that  it 
had  the  effect  of  making  him  extremely  amiable. 

"  Why,  Alwyne,"  cried  her  ladyship,  "  what  on  earth 
have  you  done  to  your  eye  ?" 

He  affected  to  treat  the  matter  in  a  light  and  airy 
manner. 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  girl,"  he  answered,  pleasantly, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  225 

"  that  I  went  out  to  have  a  smoke,  and  came  a  most  infer- 
nal cropper  over  the  roots  of  one  of  those  confounded  old 
trees  and  hit  my  eye  against  a  garden-seat.  It's  rather  a 
mercy  I  didn't  put  it  out." 

"  Poor  dear  boy !"  said  Lady  Lucy,  kindly.  "  But,  you 
know,  it  rather  serves  you  right  for  not  coming  in  to 
dance  when  we  wanted  you." 

"  Well,  I  can't  come  now,  anyhow,"  he  returned,  still 
quite  pleasantly.  "  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  a  horrid  black 
eye  to-morrow.  Such  a  nice  respectable  sort  of  thing, 
too  !"  he  added,  forcing  a  laugh. 

"  It  is  rather  awkward,"  she  assented.  "  But  every  one 
will  know  you  can't  have  got  it  fighting." 

And  she  laughed  cheerfully,  without  the  smallest  arriere- 
pensee. 

"  You  had  better  go  down  again,  Lu,"  remarked  Al- 
wyne,  "  and  don't  make  any  fuss  about  it.  It  will  only 
worry  my  aunt." 

Lady  Lucy  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  naively 
related  the  story  of  Alwyne's  accident  with  her  own  little 
theory  of  retributive  justice,  but  also  with  many  expres- 
sions of  wifely  compassion. 

The  party  soon  after  broke  up,  to  Sir  John's  unspeak- 
able relief.  For  once  he  could  even  say  good-by  to  Mrs. 
Chandos  without  wishing  to  detain  her.  When  the  last 
guest  was  gone,  he  went  back  to  Alwyne.  He  had  never 
set  up  for  being  a  censor  of  morals ;  he  was  never  down 
upon  any  one ;  but  he  had  a  deep  and  indignant  sense  that 
his  cousin  had  behaved  like  a  villain  to  a  woman  under 
his  roof,  and  he  intended  to  have  an  assurance  that  there 
should  be  no  recurrence  of  the  love-passages  of  this  even- 
ing. Jack  was  very  diffident,  as  a  rule,  about  interfering 
or  giving  advice :  he  had,  however,  a  very  strong  sense  of 
honor,  and  this  gave  him  the  necessary  resolution  to  say 
out  straightly  what  was  in  his  mind. 

As  he  entered  the  room,  Alwyne  saw  by  the  look  in 
his  eyes  and  the  unusual  sternness  of  his  manner  that 
there  was  to  be  a  reckoning  between  them.  But  for  the 
fact  of  his  having  a  wife  and  the  horrible  fear  of  her  get- 
ting to  know  what  had  happened,  he  would  probably  have 
brazened  the  matter  out ;  but  now  he  hastened  to  say,  in 
his  most  propitiatory  manner, — 


226  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"This  is  a  duced  unlucky  business,  Jack,  and  I  am 
awfully  sorry  for  my  share  in  it." 

"It  is  something  more  than  unlucky,"  said  Jack, 
warmly.  "  It  is  utterly  disgraceful ;  and  I  don't  see  what 
excuse  you  can  make  for  it  in  any  way." 

"  Look  here,  Jack,"  cried  Alwyne,  "  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor  that  I  meant  no  harm,  and  that  there  would  have 
been  none  if  that  blundering  ass  Lister  had  not  come 
playing  the  spy." 

"You  mean  you  would  not  have  been  found  out,"  re- 
torted Jack,  indignantly. 

"  Listen,  my  dear  old  chap !"  cried  Alwyne.  "  I  will 
tell  you  exactly  what  happened.  You  know  how  awfully 
fond  I  was  of  that  poor  little  girl  last  winter,  and  that  I 
wanted  to  marry  her.  Well,  I  couldn't :  I  cannot  explain 
why  to  you,  but  there  was  a  very  good  reason.  I  admit 
that  I  proposed  to  Lucy  out  of  pique,  but  I  am  extremely 
fond  of  her ;  she's  a  real  good  sort,  and  I  would  not  do 
anything  wrong  by  her,  for  the  world.  Wait  a  bit !"  as 
Jack  looked  incredulous. 

"  I  must  own  I  was  rather  unkind  to  poor  Dulcie  Yer- 
non  to-day,  and  said  some  nasty  things  to  her  at  the  pic- 
nic, and  she  took  it  dreadfully  to  heart,  and  when  we  met 
on  the  stairs  going  down  to  dinner  she  said  she  had  some- 
thing she  wanted  to  say  to  me,  and  I  proposed  meeting 
her  under  the  limes  when  we  came  out  from  dinner.  Well, 
when  we  were  there,  the  poor  little  thing  began  to  cry, 
and  I  felt  awfully  sorry  for  her, — you  know,  Jack,  it  does 
upset  one  to  see  a  woman  cry, — and  I  swear  to  you  upon 
my  soul  that  without  the  very  least  thought  of  harm  to 
her  or  Lucy,  just  out  of  sheer  good  feeling,  I  put  my  arm 
round  the  poor  little  girl  to  comfort  her,  and  then  I  looked 
up  and  saw  that  fool  Lister  standing  gibbering  in  front  of 
us  like  an  ape.  So  I  lost  my  temper  and  let  out  at  him." 

"  Ah !"  said  Jack.  "  I  thought  it  was  understood  that 
gentlemen  did  not  brawl  and  strike  each  other  before  a 
woman." 

"  Oh,  I  grant  I  was  wrong,"  admitted  Alwyne  ;  "  but  I 
was  so  infernally  provoked." 

"And  suppose,"  suggested  Jack,  "that  I  had  not  by 
good  fortune  come  along,  or  that  any  of  the  servants, 
hearing  Miss  Yernori  scream,  had  rushed  out :  a  pretty 


ONCE  AGAIN.  227 

business  it  would  have  been  for  you  and  your  wife  and 
her!" 

"  Oh,  well,"  returned  Alwyne,  "  thank  God  it  turned 
out  as  it  did.  You  don't  think,"  eagerly,  "  that  any  one 
suspects  anything." 

"•I  don't  know  that  any  one  does,"  returned  Jack:  "but 
things  have  a  nasty  way  of  leaking  out.  However,  I 
shall  do  my  best,  you  may  depend,  to  keep  it  quiet.  And 
now,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  order  your 
phaeton  to-morrow  morning  directly  after  breakfast,  and 
not  wait  till  the  afternoon.  The  sooner  you  put  a  good 
distance  between  yourself  and  Miss  Yernon,  the  better  for 
all  parties  concerned." 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  thing,  no  doubt,"  assented 
Alwyne,  with  a  good  grace.  "  But,  my  good  fellow,  don't 
run  away  with  any  mistaken  notion  that  I  am  still  in  love 
with  Dulcie  Yernon,  or  that  I  am  not  devoted  to  Lucy." 

Jack  made  no  answer  to  this,  but,  bidding  his  cousin 
good-night,  left  him  with  anything  but  a  light  heart,  and 
secretly  cursing  his  selfishness.  It  was  all  very  well  for 
him  ;  but  what  about  the  poor  girl  ? 

It  was  no  feigned  indisposition  on  Dulcie's  part  that  pre- 
vented her  going  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning. 
Fear  and  agitation  had  kept  sleep  from  her  eyes :  in  spite 
of  Jack's  reassuring  words,  she  felt  no  confidence  that  this 
dreadful  affair  would  remain  a  secret,  and  her  cheeks  were 
hot  with  shame  at  the  recollection  of  the  compromising 
situation  in  which  George  Lister  had  seen  her.  How 
could  she  hope  or  expect  that  an  angry  man,  burning  with 
jealousy,  would  keep  her  secret  or  put  any  but  the  worst 
construction  on  her  conduct?  Poor  Dulcie  told  herself 
over  and  over  again  that  she  had  meant  no  harm;  she 
hardly  knew  how  it  came  to  pass  that  Alwyne's  arm  had 
stolen  round  her ;  she  only  knew  that  she  had  been  un- 
utterably miserable,  and  that  Alwyne's  kindness  and  his 
caress  had  soothed  her. 

This  morning  her  head  ached  and  throbbed :  she  could 
not  raise  it  from  the  pillow. 

Alwyne,  on  the  contrary,  appeared  at  breakfast  in  the 
most  cheerful  and  amiable  of  moods, — laughed  at  his  own 
misfortune,  and  was  thoroughly  pleasant  all  round.  His 
wife's  maid  had  confectioned  him  a  black  silk  patch  which 


228  ONCE  AGAIN. 

concealed  the  discolored  orb,  and  he  declared  that,  as  ho 
could  not  see  to  drive  with  one  eye,  he  must  trust  his  life 
and  limbs  to  Lucy's  coachmanship. 

Lilah's  sharp  eyes  scarcely  quitted  him,  and  she  con- 
fided to  Grace  afterwards  that  Alwyne  seldom  made  him- 
self so  agreeable  unless  he  had  a  guilty  conscience ;  and, 
indeed,  she  formed  a  tolerably  shrewd  guess  that  some 
fracas  had  occurred  in  which  he,  Lister,  and  Dulcie  ha  1 
been  engaged. 

When  the  bride  and  bridegroom  had  departed,  amidst 
much  bustle  and  commotion,  and  with  many  friendly  ex- 
pressions on  all  sides,  Jack  ordered  his  horse  arid  betook 
himself  to  visit  the  other  combatant.  He  found  him  with 
his  good  looks  somewhat  impaired  by  a  swelled  nose  and 
a  bump  on  his  forehead.  Moreover,  he  was  in  a  state  of 
the  deepest  dejection. 

"  I  was  so  awfully  fond  of  that  girl !"  he  groaned,  al- 
most in  tears.  "  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  her 
if  she  would  have  me;  and  now,  of  course,  all  that  is 
over." 

Jack  chivalrously  did  his  best  to  explain  away  Dulcie's 
momentary  weakness,  and  then  went  so  far  as  to  say, — 

"  I  am  afraid  Miss  Yernon  does  not  mean  to  marry.  If 
she  had,  she  would,  I  think,  have  taken  Alwyne,  whom 
she  really  seemed  to  like,  last  winter." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  had  a  chance,"  returned  Lister, 
despondently ;  "  but,  even  if  I  had,  I  should  have  given 
up  the  idea  after  this." 

"  My  dear  chap,"  said  Jack,  diffidently,  only  anxious  to 
make  the  best  of  the  matter  for  Dulcie,  "  I  suppose  one 
can  hardly  expect  to  marry  a  woman  who  has  never  liked 
any  one  else." 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not,"  answered  George,  moodily.  "  But 
I  draw  the  line  at  a  married  man.  If  a  girl  will  go  on 
with  him,  she  isn't  to  be  trusted :  you  mark  my  words. 
I  shall  go  up  to  London  to-morrow  when  I  look  a  little 
more  respectable,"  walking  up  to  the  glass  and  inspecting 
himself,  "  and  I  shan't  come  back  until  she  has  left  you. 
Send  me  a  line,  Jack,  will  you  ?" 

"  All  right,"  he  replied,  cheerfully ;  then,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  I  say,  George,  I  dare  say  Miss  Yernon  feels  rather 
bad  about  what  happened.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  give 


ONCE  AGAIN.  229 

her  your  word  of  honor  that — that  it  is  quite  safe  with 
you." 

"Do,  by  all  means,"  answered  George:  "there's  my 
hand  on  it.  And — and,  Jack,"  faltering,  "  you  might  tell 
her  how  awfully  fond  I  was  of  her." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Jack ;  "  let  us  hope  you  will  he  able  to 
tell  her  that  yourself  one  of  these  days.  Good-by,  George." 


CHAPTEE    XXVI. 

"  THAT  was  rather  a  mysterious  affair  last  night,  was  it 
not?"  Mrs.  Herbert  remarked  to  Eeine,  as  they  sat  in  two 
lounging-chairs  under  the  shade  of  a  big  tree  in  the  gar- 
den. "  Mr.  Lister  suddenly  taken  ill,  Mr.  Temple  tumb- 
ling over  a  tree,  and  your  cousin  disappearing  altogether." 

"  Yes,  it  was,"  returned  Eeine,  a  thoughtful  frown  draw- 
ing her  brows  together.  She  felt  slightly  embarrassed  by 
her  knowledge  of  Dulcie's  affairs,  for  she  had  not  a  secret 
in  the  world  of  her  own  from  Mrs.  Herbert,  and  would 
gladly  have  discussed  this  with  her,  but  for  a  sense  of 
honor,  which  restrained  her  from  confiding  her  cousin's 
dilemma  even  to  so  discreet  a  lady  as  Mrs.  Herbert. 

On  her  part,  Mrs.  Herbert  never  imagined  for  a  moment 
that  there  was  any  secret  in  the  case,  or  that  she  was 
causing  the  smallest  embarrassment  to  Eeine  by  mention- 
ing the  matter.  They  were  accustomed  to  speak  of  every- 
thing to  each  other  without  reserve. 

"  Mr.  Lister  seemed  extremely  put  out  in  the  afternoon," 
resumed  Mrs.  Herbert,  "  when  Mr.  Temple  so  coolly  car- 
ried the  young  lady  off.  It  is  fortunate  that  Lady  Lucy 
is  not  of  a  jealous  disposition,  or  she  might  not  have  been 
very  well  pleased  at  her  husband's  behavior.  Dulcie  is  a 
pretty,  sweet-mannered  girl.  I  am  not  surprised  at  men 
losing  their  hearts  to  her;  but  I  do  wonder  a  little  at  her 
obduracy.  I  suppose  Mr.  Temple  was  very  devoted  to  her 
last  winter,  and  she  seemed  to  like  him.  Why  did  she 
not  marry  him  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mia,"  returned  Eeine,  disingenuously,  "  who 

20 


230  ONCE  AGAIN. 

can  answer  for  the  caprices  of  a  woman,  still  less  a  girl  ? 
And,  besides,  she  might  have  liked  him  very  much  with- 
out feeling  any  inclination  to  marry  him." 

"  Perhaps  it  runs  in  the  family  to  object  to  marriage," 
remarked  Mrs.  Herbert,  apparently  occupied  in  contem- 
plating the  stones  in  one  of  her  rings. 

"  The  experience  of  some  of  its  members  would  not  be 
calculated  to  tempt  others  to  try  it,"  rejoined  Eeine. 

Mrs.  Herbert  promptly  changed  the  subject,  assuming 
from  the  tone  of  her  friend's  voice  that  the  subject  was 
not  agreeable  to  her. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  Sir  John  behaved  with  great 
tact  and  discretion  last  night." 

Heine  smiled  maliciously. 

"  Anything  serves  to  give  you  an  opportunity  for  glori- 
fying the  beloved  object,  Mia,"  she  observed.  "  How  weak 
you  are  about  that  young  man !" 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  him,  certainly,"  assented  Mrs. 
Herbert. 

"  I  shall  not  be  surprised  at  any  time,"  resumed  Eeine, 
"  to  hear  that  you  are  about  to  become  Lady  Chester." 

"  Poor  dear  boy  !  What  a  fate  for  him  !"  smiled  Mrs. 
Herbert.  "  No !  but  if  he  were  an  impecunious  orphan 
I  should  be  strongly  tempted  to  adopt  him." 

"  Talk  of  an  angel  and  you  hear  his  wings,"  laughed 
"Reine.  "  Here  comes  your  paragon !" 

Jack  was  advancing  swiftly  towards  them,  his  face 
lighting  up  with  pleasure  as  he  approached. 

"  You  must  stop  and  lunch  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert, 
and  he  accepted  gladly.  "  And  now,"  she  continued,  doing 
something  quite  opposed  to  her  usual  practice,  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  ask  you  two  to  entertain  each  other  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  I  have  two  letters  that  I  positively  must 
write,  and  if  I  do  not  write  them  before  lunch  there  is 
very  small  chance  of  their  being  ready  by  post-time." 

Eeine  had  quite  a  friendly  feeling  for  Jack  now,  and  had 
forgotten  that  he  had  once  been  accused  of  being  in  love 
with  her.  So  she  was  quite  unembarrassed  at  being  left 
alone  with  him,  and  not  disposed  to  suspect  any  treach- 
ery on  the  part  of  her  friend. 

"  How  is  your  cousin  this  morning  ?"  she  asked.  "  Has 
he  recovered  from  his  accident  ?" 


ONCE  AGAIN.  231 

"Ho  has  rather  a  black  eye,"  returned  Jack,  "but  it  is 
covered  up  with  a  patch ;  so  there  is  not  much  to  be  seen. 
They  started  directly  after  breakfast,  and  are  half-way 
home  by  now." 

"  And  the  rest  of  your  party  ?"  inquired  Eeine ;  "  are 
they  all  well?" 

"Quite,  thanks,"  he  answered,  "except  Miss  Vernon, 
who  is  still  suffering  from  headache  and  was  not  able  to 
<x>me  down  to  breakfast." 

Eeine  looked  at  him  rather  fixedly,  and  said,  suddenly. — 

"  Was  Dulcie  in  the  garden  last  night  when  Mr.  Temple 
met  with  his  accident?" 

"  Was  she  not  in  her  room  ?"  asked  Jack,  seeing  some- 
thing of  an  engrossingly  interesting  nature  which  caused 
him  for  a  moment  to  turn  his  face  away  from  Mrs. 
Chandos. 

Many  women  under  the  circumstances,  seeing  what  a 
poor  figure  Jack  cut  at  dissembling,  would  have  plied  him 
with  questions  and  have  tried  to  wring  the  truth  from 
him;  but  Eeine  could  appreciate  loyalty  and  respect  a 
man  for  not  betraying  a  confidence;  so  she  simply  an- 
swered, "Ah,  yes,  I  suppose  she  was,"  and  proceeded  to 
compliment  him  upon  the  success  of  yesterday's  picnic. 

"  Have  you  been  writing  any  poetry  lately  ?"  Jack  ven- 
tured to  ask,  presently. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  have  not,"  smiled 
Eeine,  with  a  trifle  of  malice  in  her  tone.  "  I  know  that 
you  do  not  approve  of  my  verses." 

Jack  flushed  crimson. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?"  he  cried,  in  great  distress. 
"  I  think  them  most  beautiful.  Only,"  hesitating,  "  only 
I  wished  so  much  that  you  would  write  something — some- 
thing happier,  as  if  you  took  a  cheerful  view  of  life." 

"  Something  comic  ?"  suggested  Eeine,  taking  pleasure 
in  teasing  him.  "Do  you  think  I  could  write  the  words 
for  a  good  music-hall  song,  or  something  of  that  sort?" 
Then,  seeing  how  dreadfully  pained  he  looked,  she  added, 
"  No !  my  muse  is  a  sorrowful  one,  and  must  always  be  so. 
It  is  a  good  sign  that  I  have  not  been  writing  lately,  for 
it  proves  that  I  have  not  been  unhappy." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that !"  he  returned,  with 
more  ardor  than  the  occasion  seemed  to  require.  "  You 


232  ONCE  AGAIN. 

ought  always  to  be  happy.     You  were  never  meant  for 
anything  else." 

"  When  I  was  a  child,"  said  Eeine^  not  appearing  to 
observe  the  intensity  of  his  expression,  "  I  had  my  horo- 
scope cast  by  an  old  man  who  lived  in  the  village  close  by 
my  grandmother's  place.  It  was  written  on  a  dirty  piece 
of  paper,  and  contained  abstruse  and  rather  ill-spelt  refer- 
ences to  various  planets.  The  only  part  of  it  which  I  re- 
member is  the  prediction  that  I  was  to  be  '  immersed  in 
sorrow  and  trouble  while  young,  but  happy  in  old  age.' 
So  I  am  rather  looking  forward  to  that  halcyon  time,  in 
the  hope  that,  as  the  first  part  of  the  prophecy  has  been 
correct,  the  last  may  also  be  realized." 

"But  you  will  have  a  long  time  to  wait  for  that," 
remarked  Jack. 

"  Not  so  very  long,"  she  answered,  indifferently.  "  Now/' 
smiling,  "  be  good  enough  not  to  rack  your  brain  for  a 
compliment :  there  is  nothing  I  dislike  so  much.  By  the 
way,"  with  a  swift  change  of  tone,  "  have  you  heard  our 
news  ?  Do  you  know  that  we  are  to  have  a  guest  at  the 
dower-house  ?" 

With  a  lover's  proneness  to  jealousy,  Jack  felt  a  twinge 
at  this  announcement.  He  did  his  best  to  conceal  it,  and 
said, — 

"  Eeally,"  in  an  interested  voice. 

"  Gruess !"  commanded  Eeine,  smiling ;  and  he  guessed 
with  perfect  correctness. 

"  I  think  by  your  looking  so  pleased  that  it  must  be 
Bertram,"  he  replied. 

"  How  clever  of  you !"  laughed  Eeine.  "  Yes,  it  is 
Henry  Bertram.  Mia  and  I  have  been  quite  excited  ever 
since  we  had  his  acceptance  this  morning." 

Jack  did  not  look  quite  as  though  he  shared  their  satis- 
faction. True,  his  fears  had  slumbered  in  London,  but 
they  were  quite  ready  to  spring  up  again.  A  man  has 
such  opportunities  in  the  country  and  staying  in  the  same 
house  with  a  woman. 

"It  will  be  very  delightful  for  him,  no  doubt,"  said 
Jack,  in  a  somewhat  embarrassed  tone. 

"  And  for  us  too,"  returned  Eeine.  "  He  will  bring  us 
all  the  very  latest  news  and  gossip :  it  will  be  equivalent 
to  a  week's  visit  to  London, — not  in  this  dull  time,  but  in 


ONCE  AGAIN.  233 

the  height  of  the  season.  He  always  hears  everything, 
and  has  a  wonderful  talent  for  retailing  it." 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  you  were  fond  of  scandal," 
remarked  Jack,  in  a  slightly  aggrieved  tone. 

"  I  did  not  say  scandal :  I  said  gossip,"  returned  Eeine. 
"  Please  to  note  the  distinction." 

"  A  distinction  without  a  difference,"  said  Jack,  whose 
feathers  were  ruffled  at  the  thought  of  an  interloper  in  his 
Eden. 

"  A  distinction  with  a  very  great  difference,"  insisted 
Eeine.  "  Gossip  is  good-natured,  scandal  is  ill-natured. 
No  one  ever  heard  Henry  Bertram  say  anything  ill-na- 
tured. You  know,  Sir  John,  that  you  never  did." 

"  No,  certainly,"  replied  Jack,  "  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever 
did." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  him,"  observed  Eeine,  rather  un- 
kindly. "  And  yet  you  do  not  seem  at  all  pleased  to  hear 
he  is  coming.  We  were  going  to  ask  you  to  come  and 
help  us  entertain  him ;  but  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  care 
to  come." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come,"  cried  poor  Jack,  with 
energy,  seriously  alarmed  at  the  thought  of  being  ousted 
from  Paradise.  "  And  I  hope  that  he  will  come  up  to  us, 
too.  My  mother  will,  I  know,  be  charmed  to  see  him. 
She  talked  so  much  about  him  after  meeting  him  at  Mrs. 
Herbert's." 

"  She  has  no  idea  what  a  terrible  wolf  in  sheep's  cloth- 
ing he  is,"  laughed  Eeine.  "  However,  he  has  never  de- 
voured a  lamb  yet." 

"  Except  you,"  thought  Jack,  sorrowfully,  looking  hard 
at  her;  and  Eeine,  being  a  thought-reader,  divined  hia 
glance  at  once. 

"  No  one,"  she  said,  with  warmth,  "  ever  heard  him  say 
a  word  to  shock  a  person's  prejudices.  He  never  speaks 
of  his  belief  or  his  unbelief  before  any  one  whose  opinions 
do  not  coincide  with  his  own." 

"Still,  he  does  not  believe  in  anything,"  replied  Jack, 
with  an  obstinate  design  of  falling  foul  of  Bertram,  since 
Eeine  had  appeared  so  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  his 
coming. 

"  At  all  events,"  retorted  Mrs.  Chandos,  "  if  his  views 
do  not  coincide  with  those  of  many  '  professing  Christians/ 

20* 


234  ONCE  AGAIN. 

as  they  are  called,  his  actions  are,  as  a  rule,  worth  fifty  of 
theirs." 

It  was  rather  fortunate  that  at  this  moment  the  lunch- 
eon-bell rang,  and  the  pair,  somewhat  ruffled,  took  their 
way  to  the  house. 

Mrs.  Herbert  saw  in  an  instant  that  her  favorites  were 
not  quite  in  harmony,  and  exerted  herself  to  restore  cor 
dial  relations. 

"  I  hope,"  she  thought,  "  that  foolish  boy  has  not  been 
trying  to  improve  the'occasion  by  declaring  his  passion." 
But  she  was  soon  enlightened  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
despondent  mien. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Sir  John  our  delightful  news,"  said 
Eeine,  being  considerate  enough,  however,  to  choose  a 
moment  when  the  servants  had  left  the  room,  "  and  he 
does  not  in  the  very  least  share  our  enthusiasm." 

Mrs.  Herbert  immediately  ranged  herself  on  Jack's  side, 
thinking  it  very  unkind  of  Eeine  to  torment  him. 

"  Perhaps  he  does  not  express  it  in  so  exaggerated  a 
manner  as  you  do,  my  love,"  she  remarked.  "  But  I  am 
quite  sure  Sir  John  will  be  pleased  to  see  Henry,  for  they 
are  the  best  of  friends,  and  I  am  looking  forward  to  his 
helping  us  to  entertain  our  guest.  A  man  cannot  be  always 
with  women :  he  wants  a  friend  of  his  own  sex  to  smoke 
with  and  talk  to  about  sport  and  other  congenial  topics. 
I  know  Sir  John  will  be  delighted  to  give  him  a  mount 
and  show  him  the  country." 

Jack's  face  brightened  in  a  moment.  As  long  as  he  was 
not  to  be  left  out  in  the  cold,  the  best  horse  in  his  stables 
was  at  Bertram's  service,  and  he  was  ready  to  show  him 
any  amount  of  hospitality. 

"  And  four  is  such  a  pleasant  number,"  proceeded  Mrs. 
Herbert.  "  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  Henry,  and  it 
will  be  your  task,"  with  a  mischievous  glance  at  Eeine,  "  to 
rescue  Mrs.  Chandos  from  the  disagreeable  part  of  third." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  Mia,"  returned  Eeine,  with  spirit,  "if 
you  think  you  are  going  to  have  the  monopoly  of  Mr.  Ber- 
tram you  are  very  much  mistaken.  And,"  maliciously,  "  I 
really  cannot  undertake  to  console  Sir  John  for  your  neg- 
lect, or  to  be  made  a  pis  oiler  for  him." 

"How  unkind  you  are!"  said  poor  Jack's  eyes,  quite 
plainly ;  but  Mrs.  Herbert  laughed. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  235 

"  You  are  too  modest,  my  dear ;  but  still  you  must  not 
expect  always  to  carry  everything  before  you,  and  when 
you  have  the  misfortune  to  be  in  company  with  a  woman 
so  much  younger  and  more  attractive  in  every  way  than 
yourself,  you  must  be  prepared  for  an  occasional  re- 
verse." 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  adapt  myself  to  circumstances,"  re- 
turned Eeine,  trying  by  an  assumption  of  extreme  gravity 
to  spoil  her  friend's  little  joke.  Harmony  was,  however, 
completely  restored  by  this  time,  and  the  three  repaired 
to  the  garden  to  drink  coffee,  and  Jack  remained  in  great 
contentment  until  Mrs.  Herbert's  horses  came  prancing 
round  to  the  door,  when,  with  a  thousand  apologies  and 
much  expressed  astonishment  at  the  rapid  flight  of  time, 
he  took  his  leave. 

As  he  rode  up  the  drive  on  reaching  the  Hall,  he  caught 
sight  of  Dulcie  sitting  alone  in  the  garden.  He  left  his 
horse  at  the  stables  and  went  to  join  her.  She  greeted 
him  with  a  smile  that  was  a  very  poor  make-believe  of 
mirth,  and  he  felt  quite  concerned  to  see  how  wan  and 
white  she  looked. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  at  all  well,"  he  said,  in  a  very 
kind  voice,  sitting  down  beside  her.  He  could  never  bear 
to  see  a  woman  suffer,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  Dulcie 
was  suffering  both  in  mind  and  body. 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead  with  a  weary  gesture. 

"  My  head  aches,"  she  said.  "  That  is  why  I  stayed  at 
home.  The  others  have  all  gone  out." 

"  I  am  so  sorry !"  returned  Jack.  "  Can  I  not  do  any- 
thing for  you  ?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  gaining  confidence  from 
the  extreme  kindness  of  his  tone,  she  said, — 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Lister  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  anxious  to  say  anything  that  might 
relieve  her  mind.  "  I  was  over  there  this  morning.  He 
is  going  up  to  London  to-morrow  or  next  day,  and — and 
— he  gave  me  his  word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman  that  noth- 
ing should  come  out  about  last  night." 

"  Oh !"  gasped  Dulcie,  with  intense  relief.  "  And  do  you 
think  he  is  to  be  trusted  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  returned  Jack,  cordially. 

Dulcie  looked  up  at  him,  and  then  away  again. 


236  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  can  think  of  me,"  she  said, 
blushing  painfully,  "  but  indeed " 

"  I  do  not  think  anything,"  Jack  interrupted,  hastily. 
"  I  have  no  wish  to  pry  into  other  people's  affairs.  No 
doubt  it  was  all  a  misunderstanding;  but  please  do  not 
explain  it  to  me.  I  am  quite  sure  it  is  better  not  to  dis- 
cuss it.  Don't  you  think,"  abruptly  changing  the  subject, 
"that  it  would  do  you  good  to  have  a  little  fresh  air? 
Come  for  a  drive  with  me.  I'll  have  my  phaeton  round 
in  half  an  hour,  if  you  will." 

Yes,  Dulcie  said,  she  would  be  very  glad  to  go  with 
him.  Her  own  company  had  become  intolerable  to  her, 
and  she  was  only  too  thankful  to  be  taken  out  of  herself. 
So  Jack  went  back  to  the  stables,  and  she  strolled  into  the 
house  to  get  her  hat. 

During  the  drive  Jack  laid  himself  out  to  the  utmost 
to  amuse  her,  and,  seeing  through  his  kind  intention  and 
feeling  extremely  grateful  to  him,  Dulcie  smiled  and  talked, 
and  affected  a  gayety  she  was  far  from  feeling.  Still,  the 
effort  did  her  good,  and  she  returned  to  the  hall  in  a  very 
much  more  cheerful  frame  of  mind  than  that  in  which  she 
had  left  it.  All  the  evening  she  kept  up  a  semblance  of 
good  spirits,  and  Sir  John  was  so  constantly  at  her  side 
that  his  mother  was  delighted,  and  had  serious  hopes  that 
he  was  getting  weaned  from  his  allegiance  to  the  danger- 
ous Mrs.  Chandos. 

His  kindness  was  not  lost  upon  Dulcie,  who  put  no  mis- 
construction upon  it.  She  could  not  help  contrasting  him 
with  Alwyne,  and  thinking  how  unkind  and  inconsiderate 
the  latter  had  been  towards  her.  And  then  her  thoughts 
went  back  to  Noel,  and,  for  the  first  time  for  many  months, 
she  wished  that  the  accident  had  not  happened, — that  she 
had  gone  away  with  him  whilst  she  loved  him,  and  that 
she  had  never  met  Alwyne.  No  doubt  she  would  have 
been  perfectly  happy  now  as  Noel's  wife,  and  in  India  she 
would  have  been  adored  and  made  much  of.  And  now 
what  had  she  to  look  forward  to  ?  She  hated  being  with 
her  mother,  who  looked  upon  her  as  a  burden,  and  she 
wished  that  she  had  consented  to  marry  Noel,  as  her 
mother  had  desired,  and  gone  away  out  of  the  country 
with  him.  She  could  not  have  been  more  miserable  than 
fihe  was  now ;  nay,  she  could  not  have  been  half  so  miser- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  237 

able.  She  was  fond  of  him  once :  why  should  she  not 
come  to  care  for  him  again,  now  that  there  was  no  longer 
any  hope  of  Alwyne  ?  And,  remembering  Alwyne's  osten- 
tatious attentions  to  his  wife,  and  the  pains  he  had  been 
at  during  that  walk  in  the  wood  to  mortify  and  vex  her, 
the  thought  occurred  to  her  that,  after  all,  he  was  hardly 
worth  wearing  the  willow  for. 

But  she  went  to  sleep  that  night  without  seeing  a  way 
out  of  her  misery,  and  thankful  only  for  one  thing, — that 
her  secret  was  not  betrayed,  and  that  the  disgrace  she 
had  feared  had  not  overtaken  her. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

HENRY  BERTRAM  had  arrived,  had  been  welcomed  with 
cordial  delight  by  the  ladies  at  the  dower-house,  and  now, 
having  done  justice  to  an  excellent  dinner,  was  sitting 
with  them  on  the  veranda  outside  the  drawing-room  win- 
dows. 

"  Here  indeed  is  the  happy  valley !"  he  exclaimed,  with 
a  sigh  of  bien-etre ;  "  here,  far  from  the  world,  from  its 
cares,  ambitions, — worst  of  ail,  its  pleasures, — might  a 
man's  heart  know  rest !  I  feel  at  this  moment  as  though 
I  never  want  to  see  a  town  again,  but  could  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  my  life  in  serene  contemplation,  always  pro- 
vided," smiling,  "that  I  might  have  the  same  delightful 
objects  to  contemplate." 

"  Think  so  as  long  as  you  can,  my  dear  Henry,"  returned 
Mrs.  Herbert.  "  We  are  flattered  to  have  inspired  these 
sentiments  in  you,  if  but  for  half  an  hour ;  and,  as  you 
will  only  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  for  so  short 
a  time,  we  shall  take  the  greatest  pains  to  keep  up  the 
illusion  :  shall  we  not,  Eeine  ?" 

"  I  trust,"  said  Bertram,  fervently,  "  that  you  have  not 
been  making  plans  to  amuse  me ;  because  I  consider  the 
very  most  delightful  thing  in  life  is  to  do  nothing  in  pleas- 
ant company." 

"  Oh,"  said  Eeine,  teasingly,  "  Mia  has  filled  up  every 
hour  for  you.  She  will  not  allow  me  any  of  your  society, 


238  ONCE  AGAIN. 

for  fear  I  should  bore  you,  and  with  break  of  day  Sir  John 
Chester  is  to  arrive  with  fleet  steeds,  and  you  are  to  scour 
the  country  with  him  and  be  shown  every  show-place,  ruin, 
view,  and  object  of  interest  in  the  county." 

Bertram  made  a  gesture  of  mock  dismay. 

"  How  much  of  this  is  fact,  and  how  much  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  poetess?"  he  asked  of  Mrs.  Herbert. 

"  It  is  like  the  inspiration  of  most  poets,"  laughed  his 
hostess, — "  truth  seen  either  through  a  magnify  ing-glass, 
or  like  a  face  reflected  in  a  spoon, — anything  but  actual 
fact,  and  yet  inspired  by  fact.  Sir  John  has  offered  to 
place  his  stables  at  your  disposal,  and  it  is  for  you  to  ac- 
cept or  decline  as  your  fancy  dictates." 

"  I  like  that  lad,  and  shall  be  glad  to  meet  him  again," 
remarked  Bertram,  not  unmindful  of  what  Mrs.  Herbert 
had  confided  to  him  of  her  match-making  plans. 

"  Oh,  pray,"  cried  Eeine,  "  do  not  set  Mia  off  on  the 
subject  of  her  paragon.  I  hear  of  nothing  but  his  perfec- 
tions all  day  long  when  you  are  not  here :  for  pity's  sake 
let  us  have  a  new  theme  now !" 

"  Do  not  believe  her !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  But 
if  I  do  speak  well  of  him,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Chandos, 
"  pray  what  do  I  say  that  is  more  than  true  ?" 

"  I  humble  myself  in  the  dust,  Mia,"  returned  her  friend. 
"  I  admit  that  he  is  the  handsomest,  the  wittiest,  the  most 
heroic,  the  most  pattern  young  man  altogether  in  the 
three  countries, — nay,  in  Europe,  in  the  whole  world. 
Will  that  content  you  ?" 

"Not  at  all.  Exaggerated  praise  is  contempt  in  dis- 
guise. I  never  said  more  than  that  Sir  John  was  very 
amiable  and  kind-hearted,  and  the  best  son  in  the  world." 

"  You  will  see,  Henry,"  said  Eeine,  maliciously,  "  that 
we  shall  dance  at  the  wedding  yet.  Indeed,  I  suppose  it 
will  be  your  pleasing  task  to  give  the  bride  away." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  all  be  at  his  wedding,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Herbert,  "  and  that  his  wife  will  be  worthy  of  him." 

"  How  unkind  of  you !  Poor  young  man !  As  if  he  is 
not  much  happier  now  than  he  could  possibly  be  with  a 
wife  to  torment  him!" 

"  Why  should  she  torment  him,  pray  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Herbert.  "  If  she  were  a  nice  woman,  she  would  be  de- 
voted to  him." 


OXCE  AGAIN.  239 

"  She  would  probably  not  be  a  nice  woman,"  retorted 
Heine.  "Nice  people  never  marry  each  other:  one  is 
always  infinitely  better  than  the  other.  I  tremble  to 
think  of  the  sort  of  woman  Henry  would  marry  if  he 
took  unto  himself  a  wife." 

"Have  no  fear,  my  dear,"  returned  Bertram,  gayly. 
"  Henry's  wife  is  not  yet  born.  Marriage  under  some 
circumstances  is  a  very  desirable  estate,  but,  though  I 
recommend  it  to  my  friends,  I  have  never  yet  desired  it 
for  myself.  Perfect  liberty,  absolute  freedom,  is  my  idea 
of  well-being;  and  even  the  most  elastic  fetters  would 
seem  bonds  to  me." 

"  It  is  very  cruel  of  you  to  say  that  to  Mia  and  me," 
smiled  Eeine.  "  Devoted  as  we  are  to  each  other,  I  am 
sure  we  are  quite  capable  of  quarrelling  a  entrance  if  you 
showed  any  disposition  to  throw  the  handkerchief  to 
either  of  us." 

u  Quite !"  echoed  Mrs*  Herbert.  "  Now,  after  this  con- 
fession, tell  us  about  Cowes." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  ?  One  Cowes  fortnight  is  pre- 
cisely like  another,  except  for  any  difference  the  weather 
may  make.  Nine  people  out  of  ten  are  profoundly  bored 
or  extremely  uncomfortable,  cooped  up  in  yacht-cabins  or 
fifth-rate  lodgings.  Men  dawdling  about  and  yawning, 
women  who  hate  and  fear  the  sea  running  horrible  risks 
of  mal  de  mer  for  the  sake  of  being  en  evidence, — all  their 
eager  eyes  converging  to  the  lode-star  of  royalty,  all  dying 
to  be  distinguished  by  a  word  of  notice,  or,  mingled  bliss 
and  anguish,  an  invitation  on  board  the  royal  yacht.  But 
only  fancy  the  horror  of  succumbing  to  nausea  under  august 
eyes.  There  were  the  usual  number  of  pretty  women 
and  wonderful  toilets  in  the  club  gardens  and  at  the 
dances ;  the  usual  practical  jokes  at  the  expense  of  a  cer- 
tain lady;  the  usual  flirtations;  the  usual  scandals;  the 
usual  everything." 

"  And  what  was  the  latest  scandal  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Her- 
bert. 

"  The  most  engrossing  topic  of  conversation  was  Lady 
Blanche's  engagement  to  young  L.  It  is  a  regular  case 
of  Titania  and  Bottom.  He  appears  to  be  an  irreclaima- 
ble lout,  without  birth,  breeding,  or  money,  a  confirmed 
drunkard,  I  fear,  and  she  is  the  sweetest  little  creature 


240  ONCE  AGAIN. 

possible  and  absolutely  infatuated  about  him.  He  treats 
her  in  the  most  cavalier  manner,  and  she  hangs  upon  his 
every  word  and  look  with  an  adoring  expression  that  is 
positively  painful  to  see.  I  am  afraid  that  her  mother, 
who  is  sadly  weak,  will  not  be  able  to  prevent  her  from 
marrying  him." 

"  It  is  shocking !"  observed  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  I  really 
feel  thankful  that  I  have  no  children.  They  are  almost 
certain  to  choose  the  very  people  to  fall  in  love  with  that 
one  most  objects  to,  and  the  instant  you  thwart  them  they 
forget  all  your  devotion,  and  regard  you  simply  as  an 
enemy  to  be  detested  and  circumvented,  possibly  to  be 
treated  with  coldness  and  disdain." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  assented  Heine,  with  a  sigh,  think- 
ing of  Dulcie  and  Mrs.  Yernon. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  remarked  Bertram,  cheerfully,  "  that 
we  have  any  right  to  expect  our  children  to  see  with  our 
eyes  and  judge  with  our  minds.  You  and  I,"  turning  to 
Mrs.  Herbert  ("we  cannot  include  Reine  as  a  contempo- 
rary) know  how  very  differently  we  think  and  feel  on 
many  subjects  from  what  we  did  twenty  years  ago.  To 
be  tenacious  of  one's  loves  and  one's  opinions  is  very 
natural  to  the  best  sort  of  youth  ;  and  I  suppose  none  of 
us  would  very  much  value  affection  that  could  be  diverted 
from  us  at  the  will  of  a  third  person." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  assented  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  But  it  is  very 
melancholy  to  see  young  people  digging  pit-falls  for  them- 
selves, which,  if  they  tumble  into,  they  will  hardly  ever 
get  out  of  during  the  rest  of  their  lives.  However," 
lightly,  "  as  we  are  none  of  us  blessed  with  olive-branches, 
we  need  not  make  ourselves  vicariously  melancholy  with 
such  reflections." 

Mr.  Bertram  turned  to  Eeine. 

"  Has  this  charming  place  not  inspired  your  muse  ?"  he 
asked  her.  "  Are  we  not  to  have  '  Yerses  from  the  Dower- 
House'  ?" 

"  No ;  I  do  not  intend  to  write  verses  from  anywhere," 
she  replied,  a  trifle  pettishly. 

"  What !  never  any  more  ?" 

"  No ;  I  am  disgusted  at  being  misunderstood,  and  tired 
of  being  called  improper  and  blasphemous  and  athe- 
istic." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  241 

"  All  great  people  have  been  misunderstood,  my  queen," 
said  Bertram. 

"Do  not  think  I  am  posing  for  &femme  incomprise.  It 
is  a  part  I  particularly  dislike.  And  indeed,"  with  a 
proud  gesture  of  her  head,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  be  under- 
stood by  the  general  world.  What  it  thinks  is  a  matter 
of  supreme  indifference  to  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you."  interrupted  Mrs.  Herbert,  "  why  her 
pen  has  been  idle.  She  has  been  much  happier  of  late ; 
and  I  never  knew  Eeine  inspired  unless  she  was  un- 
happy." 

"  '  Prosperous  nations  have  no  history.'  Eeine,  happy, 
writes  no  poetry.  Then  I  will  not  wish  for  more,"  an- 
swered Bertram,  with  an  affectionate  glance  at  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos.  "  I  would  rather  she  were  happy  than  the  most 
famous  woman  of  her  time." 

"  Happy !"  echoed  Eeine.  "  Happy  is  a  very  big  word. 
I  exist,  and  I  am  not  absolutely  miserable.  The  sun 
shines.  I  breathe  pure  air.  I  have  Mia's  society,  which," 
with  a  smile,  "  is  amusing  when  I  can  get  her  to  vary  the 
theme  of  her  remarks,  and  now  I  have  you :  so  that — yes, 
really  to-night  I  am  next  door  to  being  happy :  I  am 
content." 

"  Would  anything  make  you  happy  ?"  Bertram  asked. 
'•  Can  you  conceive  a  state  of  bliss  ?" 

"  That  is  the  worst  of  it,"  she  replied :  "  I  can.  I  im- 
agine bliss  so  perfect  that  all  reality  must  inevitably  fall 
far  short  of  it." 

"  That  is  the  penalty  of  imagination,"  he  returned.  "  I, 
who  am  a  poor,  prosaic  earth-worm,  am  always  happy, 
and  the  little  cares  and  worries  of  life  only  make  a  foil  to 
its  bright  side  for  me." 

"  You  will  have  gout  some  day,"  smiled  Eeine,  "  and 
then  melancholy  will  mark  you  for  her  own." 

"  It  is  humiliating  to  think  how  men's  minds  are  gov- 
erned by  their  stomachs,"  he  answered,  laughing, — "  that 
it  is  not  to  one's  heart  or  brain  one  owes  ideas  and  im 
pulses,  but  to  the  greater  or  less  perfection  of  one's  powers 
of  assimilating  and  digesting  food." 

A  note  was  here  brought  to  Mrs.  Herbert,  with  an  in- 
timation that  a  reply  was  awaited. 

She  read  it  smiling. 
L  23 


242  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Do  not  look  at  her  whilst  she  reads,"  whispered  Eeine ; 
"  it  is  from  the  beloved  one." 

"  Here  is  a  charming  proposal  for  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs. 
Herbert,  refolding  her  missive  and  returning  it  to  its  en- 
velope. "  Sir  John  wishes  us  to  drive  over  to  B , 

which  we  have  not  yet  seen.  There  is  a  delightful  little 
inn  where  he  proposes  to  order  lunch,  and  he  will  drive 
one  of  us  in  his  phaeton  and  the  other  two  are  to-go  in 
my  victoria." 

"  An  excellent  idea,"  replied  Eeine,  promptly.  "  Henry 
and  I  will  go  in  the  victoria,  and  that  will  give  me  the 
opportunity  of  the  tete  d-tete  for  which  I  am  so  anxious. 
You,  of  course,  Mia,  will  go  with  Sir  John." 

Mrs.  Herbert  smiled  in  reply. 

"Do  you  approve  the  project?"  she  inquired  of  Ber 
tram. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  he  responded,  cordially. 

So  the  invitation  was  accepted,  and  Sir  John  bidden  to 
come  to  the  dower-house  with  his  phaeton  at  noon  on  the 
following  day. 

Mrs.  Chandos  rallied  her  friend  upon  the  imprudence  of 
showing  herself  in  public  with  Sir  John.  However,  by 
some  strange  means  for  which  the  author  cannot  account, 
the  next  day  it  was  Eeine  who  occupied  the  seat  by  Sir 
John,  whilst  Mrs.  Herbert  and  Bertram  bowled  away  in 
the  victoria. 

It  was  a  heavenly  day,  with  a  balmy  west  wind  tem- 
pering the  sun's  ardor.  Jack  looked  radiantly  happy,  and 
Eeine,  who  was  extremely  fond  of  horses,  felt  a  certain 
amount  of  pleasure  in  sitting  behind  the  handsome, 
spirited  chestnuts  she  had  so  often  admired.  But  scarcely 
had  they  set  out  upon  their  journey  when  an  incident 
occurred  which  went  very  near  to  spoiling  their  day's 
pleasure.  About  a  mile  from  the  dower-house  they 
passed  a  group  of  cottages.  Some  twenty  yards  farther 
on  a  couple  of  children  were  playing  on  the  bank  by  the 
road-side.  Just  as  the  phaeton  came  up  to  them,  the 
imps,  as  is  the  delight  of  mischievous  children,  ran  across 
the  road  under  the  horses'  noses.  Jack  pulled  them  up 
on  their  haunches ;  Eeine  uttered  a  low  cry ;  there  was  a 
yell,  and  one  of  the  children  lay  in  the  road,  with  its  head 
one  inch  from  the  front  wheel.  If  the  near  horse  had  not 


ONCE  AGAIN.  243 

ehied,  the  head  would  have  been  under  it.  There  was  an 
awful  moment  whilst  the  servant  jumped  out  and  Jack 
was  pacifying  the  plunging  horses,  whose  every  move- 
ment endangered  the  child :  then,  as  the  man  dragged  it 
away  and  took  it  up  in  his  arms,  Jack  cried,  with  a  white 
face, — 

"  Good  God  !  William,  is  he  killed?" 

A  lusty  yell  gave  an  instant  and  satisfactory  answer  to 
his  question. 

"  Bring  him  here  and  put  him  on  my  lap,"  cried  Eeine, 
trembling ;  and  the  man  reluctantly  obeyed,  having  regard 
to  the  lady's  nice  dress  and  the  soiled  and  dusty  condition 
of  the  urchin. 

"  He's  not  hurt,  Sir  John,  the  young  rascal !"  said  the 
indignant  groom.  "  Serve  him  right  if  he  was.  He's 
been  up  to  it  afore,  and  all  but  got  Bob  thrown  the  other 
day  on  Black  Bess." 

Jack  and  Eeine  were  carefully  examining  the  scream 
ing  child,  but  only  found  a  slight  cut  on  his  head,  where 
a  stone  had  struck  him  as  he  fell. 

"  There,  my  little  lad,  don't  cry,"  said  Jack,  kindly. 
"  Look  at  this !"  And  he  produced  a  half-crown  from  his 
pocket,  at  which  the  tears  promptly  ceased  to  flow  and 
the  yells  subsided. 

"  Go  to  their  heads,  William."  The  horses  were  quiet 
now.  "Do  you  mind  holding  the  reins  a  moment?"  to 
Mrs.  Chandos ;  and  Jack  got  out,  lifted  the  child  down, 
and,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  led  him  towards  the  cot- 
tage. 

"He  does  not  seem  hurt,"  remarked  Keine  to  the 
groom. 

"No,  ma'am,  not  he,"  returned  William,  unfeelingly. 
"  I  expect  the  horse's  shoulder  just  ketched  hirn  and  spun 
him  round.  They're  alwa}7s  up  to  it,  the  young  villains ; 
and  if  he  had  been  run  over,  it  would  just  have  bin  a 
warnin'  to  the  others." 

Meantime,  a  woman  came  running  out  of  the  cottage, 
having  been  apprised  by  the  other  urchin,  who  had  swiftly 
taken  to  his  heels,  of  the  catastrophe,  and,  seeing  that  her 
treasure  was  not  injured,  she  proceeded  to  abuse  and 
threaten  him  volubly,  alternately  offering  deep  apologies 
and  courtesies  to  the  young  squire. 


244  ONCE  AGAIN 

"  There,  Mrs.  Wilson,  don't  scold  him  this  time !"  said 
Jack,  good-naturedly.  "  He's  been  well  frightened,  and  I 
don't  suppose  he  will  do  it  again." 

"He  want  a  good  hidin',  he  do,  Sir  John;  and  that's 
what  his  father  '11  gi  'un  when  he  come  home." 

"No,  no,  not  this  time!  You  must  promise  me  not  to 
say  anything  more  this  time ;  but  if  it  happens  again,  why, 
then  he's  to  have  a  good  thrashing.  Do  you  hear  that, 
my  little  man?  Now,  don't  forget!  Promise  me  you'll 
never  do  it  again." 

And  the  blubbering  urchin  was  understood  to  give  an 
undertaking  to  refrain  from  risking  life  and  limb  in  future. 

Strange  what  great  effects  small  incidents  cause  in  the 
human  mind!  Jack's  good  nature  and  tenderness  to  the 
child  made  Eeine  feel  better  disposed  towards  him  than 
she  had  ever  been  up  to  this  moment,  and  in  her  heart  she 
compared  him  very  favorably  with  two  other  men  whom 
she  had  known  intimately, — her  husband  and  her  father, 
— who,  under  similar  circumstances,  would  have  been  very 
far  from  showing  or  feeling  any  pity  or  softness  towards 
the  mischievous  cub. 

She  was  more  charming  to  him  than  she  had  ever  been, 
— a  fact  of  which  Jack  was  delightedly  conscious,  al- 
though he  did  not  guess  the  cause.  Had  he  done  so,  he 
would  have  seriously  contemplated  endowing  the  good- 
for-nothing  urchin  with  a  ten-pound  note  in  addition  to 
the  half-crown.  How  short  the  eight  miles  seemed !  the 
milestones  had  surely  been  moved  nearer  together:  how 
exhilarating  was  the  west  wind ! — how  glorious  the  sun- 
shine ! — how  lovely  the  clouds  floating  like  swans  on  the 
bosom  of  an  azure  lake !  Surely  there  was  never  such  a 
congenial  parti  carre  as  the  one  which  lunched  in  the 
pretty,  old-fashioned  parlor  of  the  Golden  Bull,  or  loitered 
afterwards  in  the  streets  of  the  quaint  old  town. 

Jack  had  something  on  his  mind  that  he  was  anxious  to 
Bay  to  Keine.  It  was  not  on  his  own  account,  but  on  that 
of  Dulcie,  for  whom  he  felt  unfeignedly  sorry.  He  had 
delayed  broaching  the  subject  until  the  return  journey, 
for,  good  fellow  that  he  was,  he  was  dreadfully  diffident 
about  interfering  in  matters  which  did  not  concern  him, 
and  horribly  afraid  of  seeming  to  take  a  liberty. 

-About  half-way  home  he  suddenly  lapsed  into  silence, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  245 

seemed  rather  distrait,  and  was  much  occupied  with  re- 
moving flies  real  and  imaginary  from  the  sleek  sides  of  his 
chestnuts.  At  last  he  broke  out  suddenly  : 

"  I  should  so  like  to  say  something  to  you,  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos,  only — only  I  should  be  so  awfully  distressed  if  you 
were  to  think  I  was  taking  a  liberty." 

Heine  wondered  a  little  what  this  preamble  might  mean, 
but  he  hastened  on,  lest  she  should  be  led  into  any  mis- 
taken idea  of  his  intention  : 

"It  is  about  your  cousin,  Miss  Yernon.  Of  course  I 
don't  know — it  may  be  only  my  imagination ;  but  I  can't 
help  fancying  that  she  is  not  very  happy,  poor  little 
girl!" 

And  here  he  glanced  diffidently  round  at  Eeine,  to 
observe  whether  his  remark  was  taken  in  good  part.  She 
looked  thoughtful,  for  the  knowledge  of  Dulcie's  secret 
oppressed  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "I  fear  she  is  not  quite 
happy.  She  is  a  good  deal  changed  of  late." 

"  I  don't  think,"  Jack  hurried  on,  "  that  she  and  her 
mother  quite  hit  it  off,  if  you'll  excuse  my  saying  so.  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  she  wanted  a  friend  to  give  her  a  little 
advice, — one  she  wouldn't  be  afraid  of,  and  that  she  could 
confide  in." 

And  Jack's  eyes  plainly  intimated  that  Heine  was  the 
person  of  whom  he  was  thinking. 

In  his  heart  he  believed  that  Dulcie  was  fretting  after 
Alwyne.  Eeine  was  under  the  impression  that  her  mar- 
riage and  the  dislike  she  had  conceived  for  her  husband 
caused  her  misery.  Jack  did  not  like  to  hint  his  sus- 
picions, and  Keine  could  not  tell  him  what  she  knew. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Dulcie,"  she  said,  presently.  "  I 
would  gladly  do  anything  I  could  to  make  her  happier ; 
but  I  am  very  much  afraid  my  power  falls  far  short  of  my 
will." 

"  Oh,  no,"  cried  Jack,  eagerly.  "  If  you  would  talk  to 
her, — if  you  would  persuade  her  that  it's  no  use  crying 
about  spilt  milk,  that  what's  done  can't  be  undone,  and  that 
there  are  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it." 

Jack's  words  were  homely,  but  they  afforded  his  listener 
a  very  clear  exposition  of  his  views.  She  saw  that  he 
attributed  Dulcie's  sadness  to  regret  for  his  cousin. 

21* 


246  ONCE  AGAIN. 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

IT  was  some  little  time  before  Eeine  answered  Jack's 
eager  speech.  No  doubt  he  knew  something  of  which 
she  was  ignorant,  something  that  had  reference  to  the 
mysterious  disappearance  of  the  three  young  people  at 
the  hall  that  evening,  but  he  would  not  betray  Dulcie, 
and  she  had  not  the  smallest  desire  to  make  him  do  so. 

"It  beats  me,"  Jack  pursued,  seeing  that  she  did  not 
reply  to  him,  "why,  if  she  liked  Alw}rne  and  he  was  so  in 
love  with  her,  Mrs.  Vernon  did  not  let  them  marry  each 
other." 

"  My  aunt  may  have  had  good  reasons  for  objecting," 
answered  Eeine,  very  much  at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

"  Oh,  of  course  we  know  Alvvyne  has  been  rather 
spoiled,"  returned  Jack,  "  and  I  can  quite  understand  a 
mother  being  doubtful  about  his  making  a  good  husband : 
still,  he  really  isn't  a  bad  chap  at  heart,  and  with  a  nice 
amiable  girl,  who  would  give  in  to  him,  I  think  he  would 
turn  out  all  right.  Still,"  with  a  troubled  sigh,  "  it's  no 
use  going  back  to  that  now." 

Eeine  knew  that  it  was  idle  to  discuss  a  subject  on  which 
they  were  at  cross-purposes :  so  she  said, — 

"  I  will  come  up  to-morrow  and  have  a  little  talk  with 
Dulcie,  and  try  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  her." 

"  Do !  do !"  cried  Jack.  "  That  will  be  awfully  good  of 
you !" 

He  spoke  as  though  it  were  his  cousin,  not  Eeine's,  for 
whom  he  was  pleading,  and  his  tone  expressed  supreme 
confidence  in  the  success  of  her  mission. 

As  they  passed  the  scene  of  the  morning's  adventure, 
Jack  pulled  up  at  the  cottage  to  inquire  whether  any  fur- 
ther injury  to  the  boy  had  been  discovered,  and  was  greatly 
reassured  when  he  came  out,  holding  on  to  his  mother's 
apron,  abashed  in  spirits  by  the  jobation  he  had  received 
from  his  parent,  but  not  a  pin  the  worse  otherwise. 

Mrs.  Chandos  related  the  incident  at  dinner. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said  to  Bertram,  "  that  there  will  be 
no  holding  Mia  after  this,  but  I  am  bound  to  admit  that 
her  paragon  showed  to  advantage  to-day." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  247 

"Of  course  he  did,  dear  boy,"  replied  Mrs.  Herbert, 
secretly  delighted  at  Heine's  praise :  "  he  always  does  what 
is  kind  and  nice." 

"  Have  I  not  admitted  it  ?"  said  Eeine.  "  You  must  not 
expect  me  to  prostrate  myself  and  worship  the  young  man 
because  he  was  good-tempered  under  rather  trying  circum- 
stances." 

"The  young  monkey  deserved  a  whipping!"  remarked 
Bertram.  "  There  is  nothing  so  dangerous.  The  best 
horse  I  ever  had  was  thrown  down  and  broke  his  knees 
by  being  violently  pulled  up  to  save  the  neck  of  an  imp 
of  a  child  who  rushed  out  in  front  of  him.  I  remember 
that  I  swore  pretty  freely,  and  felt  very  little  compassion 
for  the  child,  on  the  occasion." 

"All's  well  that  ends  well,"  said  Eeine.  "We  have 
really  had  a  charming  day,  and  for  once  an  excursion  has 
not  bored  me.  And  you,  Henry  ?" 

"  I  shall  mark  this  day  with  a  white  stone,"  he  answered, 
smiling. 

The  next  morning  Eeine  walked  up  to  the  hall.  They 
were  to  dine  there  in  the  evening,  but  she  knew  that  she 
would  have  no  opportunity  of  speaking  privately  to  Dulcie 
then.  First  she  sought  her  aunt,  told  her  of  her  inten- 
tion, and  asked  permission  to  disclose  to  Dulcie  that  she 
was  aware  of  her  secret. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  in  a  state  of  intense  irritation. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  I  can  go  on 
being  worried  in  this  way.  Dulcie  is  absolutely  devoid 
of  self-respect.  She  goes  about  looking  wretched.  I  am 
certain  every  one  in  the  house  knows  that  she  is  pining 
after  that  odious  young  Temple.  I  have  not  the  least 
doubt  that  some  disgraceful  scene  occurred  the  other  night 
when  those  three  were  absent  from  the  drawing-room, 
which  probably  every  one  except  myself  is  aware  of.  I 
will  not  ask  any  questions,  for  fear  of  being  driven  to  ex- 
asperation. I  assure  you,  Eeine,  that  I  would  gladly  give 
up  half  my  income  if  I  could  send  her  out  to  join  that 
wretched  young  man  in  India.  If  he  had  not  been  desti- 
tute of  every  spark  of  manly  feeling,  he  would  have  in- 
sisted on  taking  her.  As  to  going  on  in  the  way  we  are 
doing  now,  it  is  impossible.  I  should  soon  be  in  a  mad- 
house. The  constant  strain  of  governing  my  feelings  and 


248  ONCE  AGAIN. 

seeming  to  smile  and  observe  nothing,  is  more  than  human 
flesh  and  blood  can  endure." 

"  Poor  auntie,"  said  Eeine,  soothingly,  "  it  is  indeed  very 
trying  for  you.  Let  me  speak  to  Dulcie  and  hear  what 
she  says.  I  cannot  help  pitying  her  too." 

" Pitying  her!"  cried  Mrs.  Vernon,  with  exasperation. 
"  What  is  there  to  pity  ?  Her  own  folly  and  her  unpardon- 
able duplicity  have  brought  all  this  upon  her.  Have  I  not 
watched  over  her  from  a  child  ?  Has  any  girl  had  more 
care  or  kindness  bestowed  upon  her  ?  and  yet  at  the  very 
first  opportunity  she  forgets  affection,  duty,  everything, 
and  overwhelms  me  with  disgrace  and  misery." 

"  It  is  a  terrible  grief  for  you,"  Reine  replied,  sympa- 
thetically. "  We  must  try  and  see  some  way  out  of  this 
dreadful  dilemma.  Let  me  go  to  her  now  and  hear  what 
she  has  to  say." 

So  Mrs.  Chandos  proceeded  to  her  cousin's  chamber,  and 
was  fortunate  enough  to  find  her  there. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  kissing  her  affectionately, 
"  this  is  a  terrible  state  of  things.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  it :  you  know  you  may  trust  me,  do  you  not  ?" 

She  felt  that  with  her  cousin  the  only  way  was  to  at- 
tack the  subject  boldly,  for  the  girl  always  took  refuge  in 
fence  and  subterfuge  when  it  was  possible. 

Dulcie  shot  a  frightened  glance  at  her,  but  did  not  an- 
swer. 

Eeine  sat  down  and  took  her  hand. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  softly,  "  what  is  to  become  of  your 
future?  You  are  very  unhappy:  your  poor  mother  is 
almost  distracted  about  you :  you  cannot  go  on  in  the  way 
you  are  doing  now." 

"  Mamma  is  heartless  and  cruel,"  cried  Dulcie,  bursting 
into  tears.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  get  away  from  her." 

"  Then,  my  dear  child,  why  did  you  not  get  away  when 
you  had  the  opportunity  ?  I  will  tell  you  at  once  that  I 
know  about  your  marriage ;  then  there  need  be  no  disguise 
between  us." 

Dulcie  hid  her  face  and  continued  to  weep.  The  most 
trying  person  of  all  to  deal  with  is  the  one  who  declines 
to  enter  into  a  discussion,  but  leaves  you  to  have  all  the 
conversation  to  yourself. 

Eeine  was  not  daunted  :  knowing  her  cousin's  peculiar 


ONCE  AGAIN.  249 

disposition,  she  continued  to  hold  one  of  her  hands,  and 
went  on  speaking  very  gently : 

"  You  know,  dear  child,  you  must  have  been  very  much 
attached  to  Mr.  Trevor  before  you  could  agree  to  such  a 
serious  step  as  a  clandestine  marriage  with  him ;  and  if, 
poor  fellow,  he  has  done  nothing  since  to  forfeit  your  re- 
gard, as  indeed  he  has  had  no  opportunity  of  doing,  it  is 
unreasonable  that  you  should  take  a  dislike  to  him  with 
out  cause." 

Dulcie  answered  not  a  word. 

"  Surely,"  Reine  continued,  after  giving  her  an  oppor- 
tunity to  speak,  of  which  she  did  not  avail  herself,  "  surely 
if  you  loved  him  ten  months  ago  you  might  get  to  care 
for  him  again ;  he  is  quite  devoted  to  you :  and  would  it 
not  be  better  to  be  with  him  than  to  lead  this  life,  which 
is  most  distressing  both  to  yourself  and  to  your  mother?" 

At  last  Dulcie  opened  her  lips. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead !"  she  said,  bitterly. 

"  But,  my  dear,  there  is  no  chance  of  your  dying.  What 
you  have  to  do  is  to  try  and  make  the  best  of  your  life. 
You  cannot  get  away  from  the  fact  that  you  are  married 
to  Mr.  Trevor.  It  is  your  duty  to  be  with  him  ;  and  why 
should  you  not  be  happy  and  make  him  happy,  instead  of 
making  yourself  and  him  miserable?  And  you  know, 
Dulcie,  it  is  hopeless  as  well  as  wrong  to  allow  yourself  to 
dwell  on  the  thought  of  any  other  man." 

"  I  do  not,"  cried  Dulcie,  with  more  energy  than  she  had 
yet  shown. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Reine,  softly,  "  that  you  have  given 
the  impression  that  you  are  not  quite  indifferent  to  Mr. 
Temple." 

Dulcie  averted  her  eyes,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Think,"  pleaded  Reine,  "  how  painful  all  this  must  be 
for  your  poor  mother !  You  should  not  forget,  dear,  how 
devoted  she  has  been  to  you  all  her  life.  Try,  for  a  mo- 
ment, to  put  yourself  in  her  place.  Think  what  she  must 
have  felt  when  she  discovered  your  marriage, — what  a 
blow  to  all  her  hopes, — how  bitter  to  know  that  her  only 
child  could  so  deceive  her !" 

Dulcie  listened  in  moody  silence:  she  would  neither  re- 
ply nor  defend  herself. 

"  Think,"  pursued  Reine,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  what 


250  ONCE  AGAIN. 

an  embarrassing  position  it  is  for  her  to  take  about  an  ap- 
parently eligible  daughter  who  attracts  attention  and  ad- 
miration, and  to  feel  that  she  is  aiding  a  deception.  Think 
of  her  annoyance  last  winter  when  Mr.  Temple  persisted 
in  regarding  her  as  the  wilful  destroyer  of  his  hopes. 
Think  of  her  vexation  every  time  a  fresh  suitor  appears. 
There  is  Mr.  Lister  now  making  himself  unhappy  about 
you.  If  he  knew  the  truth  he  would  not  have  thought  of 
you  for  a  moment.  Eemember  that  your  mother  is  a 
woman  with  a  very  strong  sense  of  honor,  and  all  this  dis- 
simulation is  extremely  painful  and  annoying  to  her." 

Still  no  answer.  Heine  began  to  get  a  little  impatient, 
but  struggled  to  conceal  it,  and  spoke  more  kindly  still. 

"  Dear  Dulcie,  you  know  this  state  of  things  cannot  go 
on  :  you  have  no  right  to  make  your  mother  miserable." 

Dulcie  burst  out  at  last : 

"  All  I  want  is  to  get  away  from  her.  Why  cannot  I 
live  with  Anna  Leslie  ?  I  would  rather  be  a  governess 
than  go  on  living  with  mamma." 

"  You  forget  how  people  talk,"  answered  Eeine.  "  What 
would  they  say  if  you,  the  only  child  of  a  devoted  mother, 
left  her  house  and  went  to  live  elsewhere  ?" 

"  Mamma  hates  me,"  said  Dulcie ;  "  I  know  she  does. 
And  it  is  only  because  I  have  disappointed  her  ambition. 
She  was  always  dinning  it  into  my  ears  that  a  girl  ought 
to  make  a  good  marriage.  But  for  that  I  dare  say  I 
should  never  have  been  tempted  to  do  what  I  did.  It  was 
all  her  fault." 

"  No,"  replied  Eeine,  firmly,  "  it  was  not  your  mother's 
fault.  It  is  quite  natural  that  she  should  wish  you  to 
marry  well." 

"  She  would  not  let  me  see  Noel.  She  made  me  write 
and  tell  him  that  I  was  not  to  see  him  again." 

"  And  now,"  Eeine  could  not  resist  saying,  "  it  is  you 
who  will  not  see  him.  Perhaps  your  mother  was  not  so 
wrong  in  not  attributing  any  great  importance  to  your 
fancy  for  him." 

Dulcie  turned  away  pettishly. 

"  Oh,  of  course  if  you  take  mamma's  part  it  is  no  good 
my  saying  anything  more.  Every  one  is  against  me." 
And  she  subsided  into  tears  again. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said  after  this.    Eeine  tried  in 


ONCE  AGAIN.  251 

vain  to  pacify  her,  and  soon  after  took  her  leave,  with  the 
unpleasant  consciousness  of  having  utterly  failed  in  her 
mission.  Jack  was  waiting  to  escort  her  home. 

"  Have  you  seen  Miss  Yernon  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly,  as 
they  walked  together  down  the  drive. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eeine,  assuming  a  light-hearted  air  that  she 
was  far  from  feeling.  "  We  have  had  a  little  talk  together. 
I  think  her  depression  is  caused  by  some  little  worry  of 
which  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  which  is  not  connected  with 
the  cause  you  supposed." 

Jack  felt  a  shade  disappointed.  He  did  not  think  that 
Mrs.  Chandos  was  trying  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes,  but 
he  did  think  that  her  cousin  had  deceived  her,  for  he 
could  not  forget  the  scene  in  the  garden  and  Lister's 
account  of  what  he  had  witnessed.  But  he  had  far  too 
much  gentlemanlike  feeling  to  insist,  and,  seeing  that  Mrs. 
Chandos  showed  no  disposition  to  confide  in  him,  he  said, 
cheerily, — 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  all  right,  and  that  she  will  soon  get 
over  her  worries.  It  is  wonderful  how  small  things  can 
vex  one  sometimes." 

Heine  thoroughly  appreciated  his  delicacy  of  feeling  in 
seeming  to  fall  in  with  her  views,  and  they  chatted  away 
amicably  together  as  they  pursued  their  way  to  the  dower- 
house.  She  was  fast  coming  round  to  the  good  opinion  of 
him  which  she  affected  to  deride  in  her  friend,  and  con- 
trasted him  constantly  in  her  mind  with  those  other  two 
men  at  whose  hands  she  had  suffered  so  much, — her  father 
selfish,  exacting,  irritable,  her  husband  violent  and  coarse. 
Both  these  had  had  their  home  manner  and  their  company 
manner,  like  a  good  many  more  of  their  sex, — could  be 
delightful  in  society  and  keep  their  ill  temper  for  home 
consumption ;  but  Sir  John  was  always  the  same, — kind, 
cheery,  anxious  for  the  comfort  of  those  about  him,  and 
thoroughly  unselfish.  He  was  as  courteous  to  his  mother 
and  sister  as  to  every  other  lady,  and  betrayed  none  of 
the  rude  familiarity,  the  oblivion  of  small  politeness,  with 
which  some  sons  and  brothers  distinguish  between  the 
women  who  belong  to  them  and  those  who  are  not  of 
their  kin.  That  evening  the  party  from  the  dower-house 
dined  at  the  Hall,  and  quite  accidentally  some  wrong  im- 
pressions were  given  to  several  of  the  company. 


252  ONCE  AGAIN. 

It  happened  that  Lilah  had  one  of  her  headaches  and 
was  not  well  enough  to  appear  at  dinner.  Eeine,  who  felt 
particularly  sorry  for  the  poor  little  invalid,  and  whose 
sympathetic  nature  made  her  ever  anxious  to  soothe  and 
relieve  suffering,  asked  permission  to  go  and  see  her. 

"  I  have  been  thought,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Chester,  "  to 
have  some  mesmeric  power  in  my  fingers,  and  once  or 
twice  I  have  been  successful  in  alleviating  pain." 

Mrs.  Chester  hesitated,  divided  between  the  desire  not 
to  seem  unappreciative  of  her  guest's  kindness  and  the 
fear  that  Lilah  might  decline  with  scant  graciousness  to 
receive  a  comparative  stranger.  She  thanked  Eeine  cord- 
ially first,  and  then  said,  with  some  diffidence, — 

"  Poor  dear  Lilah  is  a  little  inclined  to  be  fretful  in  her 
Buffering.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  vexed  if  she " 

Here  Mrs.  Chester  paused. 

"  I  will  come  away  at  once,"  interposed  Heine,  "  if  my 
presence  seems  unwelcome  to  her." 

Mrs.  Chester  led  the  way  to  Lilah's  pretty  sitting-room, 
which  it  was  her  great  pleasure  to  adorn  and  decorate. 
It  was  full  of  pretty  things,  contributed,  for  the  most  part, 
by  her  mother  and  brother. 

She  was  lying  on  a  couch,  looking  wan  and  weary,  her 
brows  contracted  by  suffering,  and  an  expression  of  queru- 
lous discontent  on  her  poor  little  white  face.  She  was  not 
asleep,  but,  as  the  door  opened  softly,  she  did  not  unclose 
her  eyes,  but  gave  herself  a  pettish  twist  expressive  of 
resentment  at  the  intrusion,  although  she  was  wont  to  be 
extremely  indignant  if  she  fancied  herself  forgotten  or 
neglected.  She  thought  it  was  her  mother  and  Grace, 
and  vouchsafed  them  no  notice.  Heine  stole  softly  to  the 
back  of  the  couch  and  laid  her  fingers  gently  on  the  hot 
brow. 

"  Who  is  that?"  cried  Lilah,  opening  her  eyes  wide  in 
an  instant.  Eeine  did  not  remove  her  hand.  Mrs.  Ches- 
ter looked  a  little  frightened.  She  feared  Lilah  was  going 
to  be  ungracious. 

"  It  is  I,"  whispered  Eeine,  softly. 

Lilah  did  not  shake  off  the  touch,  as  her  mother  ex- 
pected, but  merely  sighed  and  said, — 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it  was  different  from  any  one  I  was  used 
to."  Then,  after  a  minute,  "  Thank  you  :  I  like  it." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  253 

Eeine  continued  to  pass  her  slim  fingers  lightly  to  and 
fro  on,  not  over,  the  brow  and  head  of  the  little  sufferer, 
and  gradually  the  weary,  discontented  expression  died  out 
of  Lilah's  face,  to  the  unspeakable  delight  and  gratitude 
of  the  mother.  When  Heine  saw  that  her  charm  was 
working,  she  whispered  to  Mrs.  Chester, — 

"  Will  you  not  go  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  leave 
me  here  ?" 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  your  tiring  yourself,"  replied  Mrs. 
Chester,  with  divided  feelings  of  gratitude  and  politeness. 

"  I  can  go  on  for  hours  without  getting  tired,"  said 
Eeine.  "You  see  it  is  no  effort:  I  scarcely  move  my 
arm." 

"Yes,  mother,  go,"  interrupted  Lilah.  "And  don't  let 
any  one  come  in.  I  think  I  shall  go  to  sleep." 

Mrs.  Chester  prepared  to  obey. 

"  Do  not  send  any  one  until  I  ring  or  go  down  to  the 
drawing-room,"  urged  Eeine ;  and  Mrs.  Chester,  with 
whispered  thanks,  retired  on  tiptoe. 

In  twenty  minutes,  Lilah  was  fast  asleep ;  but  still 
Eeine  remained  at  the  head  of  the  couch,  almost  imper- 
ceptibly moving  her  fingers  to  and  fro.  Nothing  in  the 
world  gave  her  so  much  pleasure  as  to  soothe  pain  :  it  was 
long  since  she  had  spent  so  pleasant  an  evening  as  this, 
in  the  darkened  chamber,  with  Lilah  sleeping  serenely 
under  her  touch. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Chester  was  on  tenter-hooks  in  the 
drawing-room  lest  Mrs.  Chandos  should  be  tiring  herself, 
and  it  required  the  strongest  assurances  from  Mrs.  Her- 
bert that  if  there  was  one  occupation  more  delightful  to 
her  friend  than  another,  it  was  the  one  in  which  she  was 
at  present  engaged.  As  for  Jack,  his  heart  was  suffused 
with  delight  and  tenderness  at  the  thought  of  this  divine 
trait  of  goodness  in  his  idol :  would  not  his  mother  soon 
come  round  to  his  way  of  thinking  when  it  was  proved 
to  her  what  an  angel  Mrs.  Chandos  was  ?  He  was  seated 
next  Dulcie,  playing  a  round  game,  and  the  joy  that  was 
in  his  heart  smiled'in  his  face,  and  he  looked  so  tenderly 
at  and  spoke  so  softly  to  her  that  three  of  the  party 
present  gave  him  credit  for  entertaining  feelings  for  Dulcie 
which  were  really  bestowed  on  Eeine.  A  pang  shot 
through  poor  Gracie's  jealous  heart,  Henry  Bertram  said 

22 


254  ONCE  AGAIN. 

to  himself  that,  for  once,  Mrs.  Herbert's  penetration  had 
been  at  fault,  and  Mrs.  Chester  hugged  herself  with  a 
delighted  belief  that  he  was  at  last  awaking  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  this  dear  girl.  Her  affection  for  Dulcie  had  never 
wavered  :  she  had  always  thought  of  her  as  a  suitable  and 
charming  wife  for  her  dear  son.  As  time  wore  on  and 
Mrs.  Chandos  did  not  make  her  appearance,  Mrs.  Chester, 
after  fidgeting  about  a  good  deal,  went  up  again  to  Lilah's 
room,  in  spite  of  her  prohibition. 

Gentle  as  was  her  entrance,  Lilah  unclosed  her  eyes, 
but  not  peevishly  or  fretfully  this  time.  Her  face  wore  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  I  have  had  such  a  beautiful  sleep !"  she  said,  and, 
raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  she  turned  to  look  at  Eeine. 

"  How  kind  you  are !  my  headache  is  quite  gone. 
Thank  you  so  much  !  Will  you  kiss  me  ?" 

Eeine  kissed  her  very  kindly. 

u  I  am  so  glad,  my  dear,  to  have  done  you  good.  When 
your  head  aches  again,  you  must  send  for  me." 

Mrs.  Chester  could  scarcely  find  words  in  which  to  ex- 
press her  gratitude,  she  was  so  happy  about  both  her 
children  to-night,  and  they  were  the  one  thought  and  care 
of  her  existence. 

Lilah  made  Eeine  promise  that  she  would  come  very 
soon  again  to  see  her,  and  kissed  her  once  more  at  parting, 
— a  very  unusual  show  of  affection  on  the  part  of  the 
little  invalid. 

The  card-party  had  broken  up  when  Eeine  entered  the 
drawing-room,  and  Mrs.  Herbert's  carriage  was  just  being 
announced. 

"  It  is  such  a  glorious  night !"  said  Eeine.  "  Mia,  should 
you  mind  if  I  were  to  walk  home  with  Henry  ?" 

"  Eeally,  my  dear,  I  hardly  know,"  laughed  Mrs.  Hor- 
bert.  "  It  is  moonlight,  and  you  are  so  romantic." 

"  Don't  you  think  Henry's  prosaicness  will  counterbal- 
ance my  romance?"  asked  Eeine,  gayly. 

"  Perhaps,"  assented  her  friend.  u  Well,  I  suppose  I 
must  give  my  consent." 

As  Jack  was  putting  Mrs.  Chandos's  cloak  round  her, 
he  whispered,  with  enthusiasm, — 

"How  good  you  have  been  to  poor  little  Lilah!  How 
can  we  thank  you  enough  ?" 


ONCE  AGAIN.  255 

All  bis  admiration  came  streaming  through  his  blue  eyes, 
and  Eeine  would  indeed  have  been  blind  had  she  failed  to 
observe  it.  The  clasp  in  which  he  held  her  hand  told 
even  more  tales. 

Mrs.  Chandos  was  not  altogether  displeased.  She  had 
begun  to  feel  a  very  sincere  liking  for  the  kind-hearted, 
amiable  young  fellow. 

Jack  stood  on  the  steps,  looking  longingly  and  rather 
sadly  after  the  retreating  figures  of  Bertram  and  Eeine. 
He  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  walked  back  with 
them,  but  was  deterred  from  offering  his  company  by  the 
fear  of  seeming  intrusive.  He  was  not  jealous  of  Ber- 
tram now,  and  thought  him  the  best  fellow  in  the  world, 
but  in  his  honest,  diffident  heart  he  could  not  help  feeling 
a  painful  consciousness  of  his  own  inferiority  to  the  clever 
man  of  the  world,  and  thinking  how  very  much  more 
congenial  Bertram's  companionship  must  be  to  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos than  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

LILAH  could  talk  of  nothing  but  Mrs.  Chandos  and  her 
marvellous  mesmeric  powers.  She  made  the  various  mem- 
bers of  the  household  try  their  hands  at  mesmerizing  her, 
but  dismissed  them  all  with  impatient  contempt.  Johnnie, 
she  declared,  had  the  nearest  approach  to  the  mesmeric 
touch,  but  he  was  leagues  away  from  Mrs.  Chandos.  We 
may  imagine  how  delighted  he  was  at  this  compliment, 
and  with  what  pleasure  he  sat  and  listened  to  Lilah's 
praises  of  his  dear  lady.  He  did  not  say  very  much  in 
respose :  the  fact  was,  he  was  afraid  of  saying  too  much. 

Two  or  three  days  later  Mrs.  Chandos  again  paid  a  visit, 
to  Lilah  in  her  boudoir,  by  particular  request  of  the  young 
lady, — not  to  exercise  the  office  of  healing  medium  on  this 
occasion,  but  to  have  what  Lilah  called  a  nice  talk. 

"  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  you,"  said  the  girl,  when 
Reine  had  been  with  her  a  few  minutes, — "  a  great  favor. 
Dear  Mrs.  Chandos,  will  you  promise  to  grant  it  ?" 

"  I  think  I  may  promise,"  smiled  Reine.  "  I  do  not  sup- 
pose you  would  ask  anything  very  impossible  of  me." 


256  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Lilah  lowered  her  voice,  and  said,  coaxingly, — 
"  I  want  to  read  your  poetry.  Will  you  lend  it  to  me  ?" 
Reine  hesitated.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  comply 
with  this  request,  and  for  the  first  time  the  thought 
struck  her  unpleasantly  that  she  would  not  like  this 
young  girl  to  read  what  she  had  written.  She  had  been 
indignant  with  critics  who  had  found  fault  with  the  moral 
tone  of  her  verses ;  she  had  declared  that  it  was  absurd 
to  suppose  that  authors  and  poets  were  to  be  trammelled 
in  their  writings  by  the  consideration  whether  what  they 
wrote  was  suited  to  school-girls ;  but  at  this  moment  it 
smote  her  sharply  to  think  that  her  poetry  was  not  what 
she  would  care  to  put  into  Lilah's  hands. 

Lilah  saw  her  hesitation,  and  said,  quickly, — 
"  You  are  thinking  that  mamma  would  not  like  it.  But 
mamma  is  not  to  know.  She  has  such  old-fashioned  ideas, 
and  thinks  everything  dreadful.  But,"  confidentially,  "  I 
have  read  heaps  of  things  she  does  not  know  of.  I  found 
a  volume  of  Swinburne's  poems  once  in  a  hotel, — some  one 
had  left  it  behind, — and  I  took  it  to  bed  with  me  and  read 
every  word.  Oh,  it  was  lovely ;  but  I  am  quite  sure  yours 
could  not  be  half  so  improper  as  those,  could  they  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Eeine,  gravely,  without  replying  to  the 
latter  part  of  Lilah's  remarks,  "  I  could  not  think  of  lend- 
ing you  my  poems  if  your  mother  disapproves  of  them. 
But  how  do  you  know  that  she  does?  Has  she  read 
them  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Lilah.  "  She  got  them  at  Nice,  and 
was  in  an  awful  state  of  mind  about  them.  I  don't  mind 
telling  you,  because  it  will  make  you  laugh.  She  was  in 
the  greatest  fright  that  Johnnie  was  going  to  fall  in  love 
with  you,  and  she  thought  you  did  not  believe  in  anything 
and  would  take  him  headlong  to  perdition,  and  they  had 
an  awful  scene  about  it.  You  know  I  would  not  tell  you 
this,  only  I  thought  it  would  amuse  you,  because,  of  course, 
though  we  think  there  is  no  one  like  our  dear,  darling 
Johnnie,  you  would  not  look  at  him,  because  he  is  not 
clever  like  you." 

One  might  have  imagined  that,  as  Lilah  was  a  shrewd 
little  person,  she  would  have  been  aware  that  her  words 
could  not  i us]) ire  any  very  pleasurable  emotion  in  the 
breast  of  her  hearer ;  but  there  was  a  curious  little  twist 


ONCE  AQAIN.  257 

in  her  nature  that  made  it  agreeable  to  her  to  shoot  occa- 
Bional  arrows  at  friends  as  well  as  foes. 

Keine  experienced  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  sensa- 
tions she  had  ever  known  in  her  life.  To  feel  that  she  was 
looked  upon  in  such  a  light  by  so  excellent,  if  narrow- 
minded,  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Chester,  was  mortifying  to  her 
in  the  extreme,  conscious  as  she  was  of  her  own  purity 
and  rectitude  of  intention  and  principle.  To  be  regarded 
in  the  light  in  which  it  was  evident  Mrs.  Chester  regarded 
her  was  a  bitter  blow  both  to  her  vanity  and  her  heart. 
It  cost  her  one  of  the  greatest  efforts  she  had  ever  made 
in  her  life  to  smile  and  assume  a  tolerably  indifferent  tone 
as  she  said, — 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  my  dear,  but,  under  the  circumstances, 
I  cannot  possibly  do  what  you  ask.  I  would  on  no  account 
lend  you  any  book  without  your  mother's  sanction,  far  less 
one  of  which  you  tell  me  she  disapproves  so  strongly." 

Lilah  had  a  suspicion  that  she  had  been  indiscreet,  and 
tried  to  make  amends. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  vexed,"  she  said.  "  I  ought  not  to 
have  said  anything  about  it.  But  mamma  is  so  dreadfully 
religious  and  so  strict  in  her  ideas  that  she  thinks  every 
one  who  does  not  believe  the  Bible  right  through  from 
beginning  to  end  must  be  lost.  I  have  often,"  looking  a 
little  frightened  at  her  own  words,  "  thought  there  were 
things  in  it  which  were  unnatural  and  contradicted  each 
other,  and,  oh !  I  should  so  like  to  talk  about  it  to  some 
one  clever  who  understands  these  things.  Life  is  so  un- 
fair and  hard  on  some  people :  I  don't  see  how  one  can  be 
expected  to  think  it  is  all  right,  and  to  be  thankful  for 
one's  misery." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Eeine,  compassionately,  "  if  you 
do  not  want  to  be  very  unhappy,  do  not  encourage  doubts 
or  begin  to  ask  questions.  Believe  what  you  have  believed 
and  been  taught  in  your  childhood,  or  you  will  prepare  a 
great  deal  of  misery  for  yourself.  We  poor  mortals  cannot 
discover  the  truth  for  ourselves,  and  we  are  far  more  likely 
to  be  happy  if  we  submit  our  judgment,  even  a  little 
against  the  grain  sometimes,  than  if  we  insist  on  knowing, 
or  rather  trying  to  know,  the  why  and  wherefore  of  every- 
thing. We  never  shall  know  it ;  no  one  has  ever  known 
it;  and  a  hundred  clever  minds  will  evolve  a  hundred  dif- 
r  22* 


258  ONCE  AGAIN. 

ferent  theories  from  a  lifetime  of  research.  Few  women 
can  swim  out  boldly  into  the  sea  of  speculation :  most  of 
us  only  succeed  in  wetting  our  feet  with  the  little  waves 
on  the  shore  and  making  ourselves  thoroughly  uncom- 
fortable." 

"  When  did  you  first  begin  to  have  doubts  ?"  asked  Lilah, 
eagerly ;  but  Mrs.  Chandos  refused  altogether  to  continue 
the  discussion.  She  was  extremely  glad  when,  a  few 
minutes  later,  Mrs.  Herbert  came  into  the  room  with 
Grace,  and  soon  afterwards  they  took  their  leave.  During 
the  remainder  of  the  afternoon,  and  at  dinner,  Keine  was 
silent  and  distraite:  truth  to  tell,  Lilah's  arrow  was  rank- 
ling terribly  in  her  mind.  Mrs.  Herbert  saw  that  some- 
thing had  vexed  her  friend,  but  made  no  remark,  hoping 
that  Eeine  would  tell  her  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 
When  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  veranda,  and  Keine 
still  made  no  sign,  she  said, — 

"  It  is  not  kind  of  you,  my  love,  to  have  secrets  from 
me.  What  has  vexed  you  ?" 

Eeine  did  not  answer  for  a  moment;  then  she  said,  with 
a  ruffled  gesture, — 

"  Yes,  I  am  vexed. — horribly  vexed.  It  is,  I  dare  say, 
a  very  slight  and  unimportant  matter ;  perhaps  it  is  only 
my  vanity  that  is  hurt,  but  it  is  hurt,  and  I  cannot  help 
feeling  annoyed  and  disgusted."  Then,  with  a  slight  in- 
crease of  color  in  her  cheek,  she  repeated  to  her  friend 
what  Lilah  had  said. 

Mrs.  Herbert  was  extremely  indignant. 

"  I  never  liked  that  girl,"  she  said.  "  She  is  a  spiteful 
little  cat,  and  always  has  her  claws  out  ready  to  scratch." 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  Eeine,  kindly.  "I  do  not  for 
a  moment  suppose  she  meant  to  hurt  me." 

"  Nonsense  !"  returned  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  She  is  anything 
but  stupid,  and  it  is  only  very  stupid  people  who  hurt  the 
feelings  of  others  without  being  aware  of  it.  I  have  not 
the  smallest  doubt  that  jealousy  prompted  her  in  what  she 
said." 

"  Indeed,  dear  Mia,  I  think  you  are  too  hard  on  her.  It 
was  a  little  want  of  tact,  perhaps,  but  nothing  more.  I 
really  cannot  help  laughing,"  but  she  looked  more  angry 
than  amused,  "  at  the  idea  of  that  excellent  woman  being 
alarmed  lest  her  son  should  be  entrapped  by  such  a  dan- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  259 

gerous  creature  as  myself.     It  is  something  new  to  me  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  Scarlet  Lady." 

And  Eeine  gave  an  abrupt,  contemptuous  little  laugh, 
quite  unsuggestive  of  mirth.  She  was  working  herself  up 
into  a  state  of  anger  and  felt  the  want  of  a  victim.  Her 
strong  sense  of  justice  passed  into  abeyance  for  the  time. 

"  I  beg,  Mia,  that  you  will  not  invite  Sir  John  here  again 
whilst  I  remain.  You  see,  you  little  know  what  daggers 
you  have  been  planting  in  the  breast  of  his  worthy  mother. 
Fancy  me  in  the  role  of  seducer  and  corrupter  of  an  inno- 
cent young  country  squire." 

By  this  time  she  was  very  angry,  and  Mrs.  Herbert  had 
a  melancholy  presentiment  that  all  her  little  ingenious 
schemes  had  been  overthrown  by  the  odious  sister  of  her 
favorite.  She,  too,  felt  the  want  of  a  victim,  and  made 
Lilah  hers.  She  resolved  then  and  there  to  give  Sir  John 
a  hint  of  the  mischief  which  Lilah  had  worked. 

"  Do  not  talk  such  nonsense,  my  dear,"  she  said,  with 
some  sharpness.  "  The  girl  exaggerated :  in  fact,  I  dare 
say  she  invented  the  whole  story.  Nothing,  I  am  sure, 
could  be  more  cordial  than  the  manner  in  which  Mrs. 
Chester  spoke  to  me  of  you  and  your  kindness  to  Lilah." 

Eeine  did  not  answer  for  some  time:  then  she  said, 
looking  away  into  the  distance  and  speaking  in  a  thought- 
ful voice, — 

"After  all,  perhaps  it  was  a  mistake  to  have  published 
those  poems.  I  dare  say  they  have  done  me  a  great  deal 
of  harm  and  given  people  very  wrong  ideas  about  me. 
Imagine,"  with  a  smile  which  had  more  bitter  than  sweet 
in  it,  "  a  very  religious  elderly  woman,  with  all  the  cor- 
rect old-fashioned  opinions,  sitting  down  in  cold  blood  to 
pronounce  judgment  upon  my  poor  *  Yerses  from  the 
South,'  written  at  fever-heat  of  passionate  misery,  the 
outcome  of  a  vivid  imagination  worked  up  to  its  highest 
pitch  !  No !  I  see  it  now.  The  folly  was  not,  perhaps,  in 
writing  them,  because  it  gave  me  a  kind  of  relief  and 
happiness,  but  in  sending  them  out  to  the  world.  Mia, 
you  are  a  sensible  woman, — why  did  you  not  advise  me 
against  publishing  them  ?' 

"  "Why  should  I  have  done  so?"  retorted  Mrs.  Herbert. 
"They  are  charming  and  full  of  genius,  and  they  have 
given  you  fame." 


260  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"Fame  worth  having !"  exclaimed  Heine,  bitterly.  "A 
handle  to  every  ill-natured  person  to  accuse  me  of  immo- 
rality and  infidelity,  and  to  make  a  really  good  woman 
look  with  dread  and  horror  upon  my  possible  influence 
over  her  son.  No !  I  will  do  to-morrow  what  I  have  often 
thought  of  doing  before ;  I  will  buy  up  all  that  are  to  be 
bought,  and  make  them  into  a  bonfire/' 

"  You  talk  like  a  pettish  child,"  returned  Mrs.  Herbert. 
"  I  hope  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort." 

But  the  very  next  day  Mrs.  Chandos,  without  saying  a 
word  to  her  friend,  wrote  and  gave  the  order  for  the  call- 
ing in  of  her  poems. 

Mrs.  Herbert  did  her  utmost  to  soothe  Heine's  ruffled 
plumage,  but  she  was  perfectly  conscious  of  her  want  of 
success  and  sorely  vexed  about  it.  She  was  more  vexed 
still  to  observe  the  change  in  Heine's  manner  to  Sir  John 
when  he  next  came  to  the  dower-house.  He,  poor  fellow, 
had  been  so  exulting  in  her  altered  demeanor  to  him  of 
late,  and  was  stupefied  when  he  perceived  this  lapse  into 
a  colder  and  more  indifferent  manner  than  she  had  ever 
shown  him  before. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?"  he  cried,  in  despair,  the  moment 
he  was  left  alone  with  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  How  is  it  possible 
that  I  can  have  offended  Mrs.  Chandos  ?" 

Mrs.  Herbert,  as  she  had  resolved,  told  him  what  Lilah 
had  said  to  Heine.  She  really  hoped  that  he  would  give 
the  little  mischief-maker  a  severe  lecture  on  her  indiscre- 
tion and  malice. 

Poor  Jack  sat  stupefied  with  misery  and  indignation. 
To  think  that  Mrs.  Chandos,  whom  he  placed  on  so  ex- 
alted a  pedestal,  should  have  been  wounded  and  insulted 
by  a  member  of  his  family ;  that  she  at  whose  feet  he 
humbly  worshipped,  in  full  consciousness  of  his  own  in- 
feriority, should  have  been  given  to  understand  that  she 
was  not  thought  worthy  of  him  !  No  words  could  express 
his  bitter  mortification.  Most  men,  under  the  circum- 
stances, would  not  have  rested  until  they  had  wreaked 
their  wrath  on  the  person  who  had  injured  them;  but 
Jack  knew  that  he  could  say  nothing  to  Lilah  in  anger: 
whatever  she  did,  her  weakness  and  suffering  must  shield 
her  from  any  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  part. 

Mrs.  Herbert  said  everything  in  her  power  to  soothe 


ONCE  AGAIN.  261 

and  comfort  him :  she  was  quite  vexed  to  see  with  what 
dreadful  seriousness  he  took  the  matter,  as  though  he  then 
and  there  abandoned  hope  forever. 

"  What  must  she  think  of  us!"  he  reiterated,  as  though 
Eeine  were  a  sovereign  and  he  and  his  family  had  been 
found  guilty  of  lese-majeste. 

"  She  will  forget  it,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  Eeine  has  a 
generous  mind  and  is  not  at  all  vindictive." 

But  Jack  was  not  to  be  comforted.  It  seemed  impossi- 
ble that  she  should  ever  forgive  such  a  wanton  insult. 
For  the  first  time  he  shrank  from  seeing  her,  and  reso- 
lutely declined  Mrs.  Herbert's  invitation  to  stay  to  lunch. 

Mrs.  Herbert  could  not  forbear  telling  Heine  of  his  dis- 
tress, and  the  latter  lady  said,  not  without  warmth, — 

"  My  dear  Mia,  I  really  think  that  for  once  you  have 
been  wanting  in  tact  to  tell  Sir  John  anything  about  the 
matter." 

"  Perhaps,"  retorted  her  friend,  "  you  are  not  aware  how 
chilling  your  manner  was  to  the  poor  fellow.  No  one 
could  help  remarking  it,  and  he  asked  me  what  it  meant 
the  moment  you  left  the  room." 

"  I  should  be  sorry,"  said  Eeine,  with  a  touch  of  temper, 
"  if  he  imagined  that  I  cared  the  very  least  what  either 
he  or  his  family  think  of  me." 

"  You  are  not  generally  unjust,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Herbert, 
"  and  it  is  unjust  to  punish  a  man  who  is  devoted  to  you 
for  what  a  peevish,  disagreeable  little  girl  said." 

Mrs.  Herbert  paused,  afraid  she  had  gone  too  far  in 
speaking  of  Jack's  devotion. 

But  Mrs.  Chandos  did  not  appear  to  have  remarked  the 
expression. 

Meantime,  poor  Jack  was  utterly  miserable.  So  miser- 
able was  he  that  the  habitual  cheery  expression  completely 
deserted  his  face,  and  it  was  patent  to  every  one  at  the 
hall  that  some  dreadful  misfortune  had  befallen  him. 

Lilah  had  a  sort  of  frightened  intuition  of  what  had 
happened,  and,  fearful  of  explanations,  forbore  to  remark 
his  dejection  ;  but  his  mother  was  seriously  concerned, 
and  east  wistful  glances  at  him  from  time  to  time.  In  the 
evening,  no  longer  able  to  bear  the  suspense,  she  waited 
up  after  every  one  else  had  retired,  and  went  to  seek  him 
in  his  own  room. 


262  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  My  dearest  boy,"  she  said,  tremulously,  all  her  moth- 
erly affection  gleaming  in  her  eyes,  "  I  fear  something  has 
happened  to  distress  you.  Pray,  my  dear,"  laying  a  hand 
tenderly  on  his  arm,  "  if  you  have  any  trouble,  do  not  keep 
it  from  me !  Who  can  feel  for  you  like  your  mother  ?" 

Jack  was  not  so  much  touched  by  this  tender  appeal  as 
he  might  have  been  under  other  circumstances.  He  could 
not  forget  that  it  was  through  his  mother,  if  indirectly, 
that  this  trouble  had  come  upon  him. 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  then,  as  she  urged 
him,  he  said,  in  a  colder  tone  than  she  had  ever  heard  from 
his  lips, — 

"  It  is  very  hard  that  my  own  family  should  take  it 
upon  themselves  to  insult  the  woman  I  love  best  in  the 
world." 

The  words  contained  a  double  blow  to  Mrs.  Chester. 
The  first  was  the  intimation  that  he,  after  all,  loved  Mrs. 
Chandos  ;  the  second,  the  horror  of  any  one  having  been 
insulted  by  her  or  hers. 

"Insulted!"  she  exclaimed,  trembling  with  agitation. 
"  What  can  you  possibly  mean  ?" 

The  most  veracious  people,  we  know,  are  tempted  to 
exaggerate  at  times,  and  it  is  possible  that  Mrs.  Herbert 
unconsciously  added  a  little  to  Eeine's  recital.  Jack,  car- 
ried away  by  his  feelings,  made  the  most  of  what  had 
been  told  him,  and  poor  Mrs.  Chester  was  positively  ap- 
palled to  think  that  Lilah  should  have  dared  to  repeat  to 
Mrs.  Chandos  her  opinion  of  that  lady's  poetry  and  her 
fears  for  her  son.  She  felt  thoroughly  humiliated,  and 
scarcely  knew  what  to  say  to  Jack,  who  stood  looking  at 
her  with  a  disturbed  and  angry  face. 

"Indeed!"  cried  the  poor  lady,  at  last.  "I  could  not 
have  believed  Lilah  capable  of  behaving  in  so  improper 
and  unfeeling  a  manner.  I  shall  tell  her  very  plainly  my 
opinion  of  her  conduct,  and  I  must  think  what  apology  I 
can  make  to  Mrs.  Chandos  for  the  insult  that  has  been 
offered  her  under  my  roof." 

"  No,  mother,"  said  Jack,  decisively.  "  Say  nothing  to 
Lilah.  She  is  a  great  sufferer.  I  do  not  think  we  can 
hold  her  accountable  like  other  people.  And,  after  all," 
with  some  bitterness, — "  it  was  true.  You  said  all  that, 
and  more,  about  Mrs.  Chandos." 


ONCE  AGAIN.  263 

His  mother  was  silent.  She  could  not  deny  it,  but  she 
was  extremely  anxious  not  to  irritate  her  son  or  increase 
his  trouble. 

"  You  must  indeed  be  hard  to  please,"  he  went  on,  with 
some  excitement :  "  a  woman  who  is  as  good  and  kind  as 
an  angel,  and  the  most  perfect  and  pure-minded  lady  that 
ever  breathed." 

Poor  Mrs.  Chester  dared  not  say,  as  she  would  fain  have 
done,  that  these  qualities  availed  nothing  against  the  ab- 
sence of  religion  in  a  woman.  Though,  since  she  had  seen 
more  of  Eeine  and  observed  that  she  went  to  church  and 
behaved  with  great  apparent  reverence  and  devoutness 
when  there,  her  prejudice  had  been  considerably  shaken. 
Still,  she  could  not  forget  that  Mrs.  Chandos  had  written 
poetry  she  disapproved  of;  that  she  had  been  divorced 
from  her  husband,  absolutely  blameless  though  she  was  in 
the  matter ;  and  that  she  was  very  nearly  her  son's  age, — 
all  of  which  circumstances  made  her  in  the  mother's  opin- 
ion a  most  undesirable  wife  for  him. 

But  she  would  not  vex  him  now  by  discussing  these  ob- 
jections, and  contented  herself  by  expressing  extreme  re- 
gret for  what  had  happened;  and  finally  they  parted 
outwardly  on  friendly  terms  but  inwardly  sore  at  heart. 

Jack,  who  was  wont  to  sleep  from  the  moment  he  laid 
down  his  head  on  his  pillow  until  he  was  called,  passed  a 
troubled  night.  By  morning  he  had  resolved  that,  how- 
ever difficult  and  painful  the  task,  he  would  express  to 
Mrs.  Chandos  his  grief  and  regret  for  the  insult  she  had 
received. 

He  went  down  to  the  dower-house  soon  after  breakfast, 
intending  to  ask  for  an  interview  with  Eeine.  But  when 
he  drew  near  the  house  he  saw  her  seated  alone  under  the 
cedar  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  As  he  approached  her 
and  she  read  his  suffering  in  his  face,  her  kind  heart  wan 
touched,  and  she  received  him  pleasantly. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  she  made  some  trifling 
general  remark  with  a  view  of  putting  him  at  his  ease. 
He  did  not  answer  it :  his  heart  was  full  of  what  he  had 
come  to  say,  though  his  tongue  would  not  all  at  once  give 
utterance  to  it.  Suddenly  he  turned  to  her,  the  color 
flushing  to  his  face. 

"  Mrs.  Chandos,"  he  stammered,  "  I  am  not  clever  at 


264  ONCE  AGAIN. 

words,  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  speak  bluntly,  but  I  have 
never  in  my  life  been  so  cut  up  as  at  hearing  that  my 
sister  had  said  such  unpardonable  things  to  you.  Poor 
little  girl !  I  cannot  think  she  meant  any  harm,  and  you 
are  so  good  and  kind  that  I  beg  and  pray  you  to  forgive 
her,  because  you  know  she  is  not  quite  like  other  people." 

Eeine  put  out  her  hand  frankly  to  him. 

"  Do  not  say  another  word !"  she  said,  smiling  a  kind, 
reassuring  smile.  "  I  have  forgotten  it,  and  am  only  vexed 
that  you  should  ever  have  heard  of  it." 

"  Oh !"  gasped  Jack,  covering  her  hand  with  kisses, 
"  you  are  an  angel !  But  I  cannot  forget  it.  To  think 
that  you,  whom  I  love  and  respect  more  than  any  woman 
in  the  world, — yes,"  as  Eeine  made  a  warning  gesture. — 
"yes,"  passionately,  "it  must  come  out!  I  know  I  am 
nothing  to  you.  I  know  it  would  be  presumption  and 
madness  for  me  ever  to  think  of  you,  except  as  some  one 
far  above  me  and  out  of  my  reach ;  but  that  does  not 
prevent  my  loving  and  worshipping  you  with  all  my  soul. 
Do  not  be  angry  with  me !"  as  she  drew  her  hand  away : 
"  I  expect  nothing,  I  hope  for  nothing,  but  I  beseech  you 
to  let  me  be  your  friend,  your  slave, — anything,  so  that  I 
may  sometimes  see  you  and  be  near  you." 

"  Do  not  say  any  more !"  uttered  Eeine,  very  gently  and 
kindly.  "  You  shall  always  be  my  friend.  But  now  I  want 
to  tell  you  something  which  I  hope  will  make  you  hap- 
pier in  your  mind.  I  have  never  been  very  proud  of  my 
poetry,  and  I  have  often  thought  it  might  give  people  a 
wrong  impression  about  me.  I  could  see  after  you  had 
read  it  that  you  did  not  approve  of  it." 

He  would  have  protested,  but  she  silenced  him  by  a 
gesture. 

"And  I  can  quite  understand,"  she  went  on,  "that  it 
horrified  your  mother.  It  was  written  when  I  was  suffer- 
ing acutely  and  looked  at  things  very  likely  in  a  morbid 
and  distorted  way.  Writing  soothed  me  at  the  time,  but 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a  mistake  to 
publish  those  poems.  I  wrote  yesterday  and  ordered  that 
all  the  copies  that  can  be  procured  are  to  be  bought  and 
sent  to  me.  They  will  soon  be  forgotten  ;  and  that  is  the 
best  fate  for  them." 

Jack  looked  at  her  in  mingled  wonder  and  admiration. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  265 

He  felt  no  inclination  to  dissuade  her  from  such  a  step : 
nay,  he  rejoiced  to  think  that  alien  eyes  should  not  in  the 
future  read  the  impassioned  words  she  had  once  written. 

Eeine  knew  by  intuition  what  was  passing  in  his  mind, 
and,  if  it  gave  a  slight  wound  to  her  vanity,  she  felt  no 
resentment  against  him,  recognizing  as  she  did  the  truth 
and  honesty  of  his  heart. 

How  he  longed  at  that  moment  to  pour  forth  all  his  de- 
votion and  adoration  before  her !  The  most  extravagant 
words  would  have  seemed  inadequate  to  express  what  he 
felt ;  but  he  had  so  great  an  awe  of  her,  so  deep  a  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  inferiority,  that  he  dared  not  let  his 
lips  plead  for  him.  But  his  eyes  were  eloquent  enough, 
and  Reine  was  rather  relieved  at  this  juncture  by  the  sight 
of  Mrs.  Herbert  coming  towards  them  across  the  lawn. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DECEMBER  had  come :  Dulcie  was  again  on  a  visit  to  the 
Fawcetts,  and  this  time,  as  before,  without  her  mother. 
They  had  been  little  together  since  they  left  the  Hall,  for 
the  strain  of  their  relations  had  become  intolerable  to  both, 
and  Mrs.  Yernon  preferred  to  risk  the  remarks  of  her 
friends,  to  living  in  a  constant  state  of  irritation  and  fear. 
Dulcie  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  autumn  with  Mrs. 
Leslie,  who,  always  kind  and  cheery,  felt  very  sorry  for 
the  girl  and  did  her  best  to  amuse  and  comfort  her ;  and, 
after  that,  she  had  paid  visits  to  one  or  two  intimate 
friends.  The  elder  of  Mrs.  Fawcett's  daughters  had  re- 
cently married,  and  Mary,  the  younger,  who  had  always 
been  fond  of  Dulcie,  was  delighted  to  have  her  to  replace 
the  sister  whose  companionship  she  missed  so  much. 

Dulcie  was  unquestionably  improved  by  her  sorrows. 
She  had  always  been  gentle  and  amiable,  but  now  she 
seemed  more  thoughtful,  more  sympathetic:  there  was 
less  of  the  butterfly  about  her. 

"  I  used,"  Mrs.  Fawcett  confided  to  her  husband,  "  to 
think  Dulcie  rather  silly  and  flighty;  but  she  has  im- 
proved amazingly  since  last  year.  I  wish  she  and  Charlie 
M  23 


266  ONCE  AGAIN. 

would  take  a  fancy  to  each  other.  She  will  have  a  thou- 
sand a  year  when  she  comes  of  age,  and  more  than  treble 
that  when  her  mother  dies." 

"  It  would  be  very  handy  for  Charlie,"  replied  her  lord ; 
"  but  I  fear  it  is  too  great  a  bit  of  luck  to  come  off." 

It  was  a  fatality  that  people  would  always  insist  on 
marrying  and  giving  Dulcie  in  marriage ;  but  it  was  hardly 
an  exceptional  case,  for  if  a  girl  is  pretty,  good-tempered, 
and  has  a  nice  little  fortune,  she  is  likely  to  have  as  many 
candidates  for  her  hand  as  Solomon  had  wives. 

Mary  Fawcett  and  Dulcie,  being  great  friends,  always 
performed  together  the  rite  of  brushing  out  their  hair  over 
each  other's  bedroom  fires,  as  is  the  wont  of  friends. 

On  the  evening  when  we  meet  Dulcie  again  after  three 
months'  absence,  Mary  came  into  her  room  waving  a  silver 
brush  in  tbe  delightful  excitement  consequent  on  having  a 
piece  of  interesting  news  to  communicate. 

"  Oh,  Dulcie!  I  have  just  been  hearing  such  a  bit  of 
news  from  Charlie !  It  is  a  profound  secret :  he  made  me 
swear  not  to  tell  any  one,  but  of  course  I  made  a  mental 
reservation  in  favor  of  you.  He  does  not  want  father 
and  mother  to  know,  though  it  is  bound  to  come  out 
before  very  long.  You  remember  that  young  Trevor  who 
was  staying  here  last  winter?  I  used  to  think  he  was 
rather  fond  of  you." 

It  was  convenient  that  Dulcie  could  use  her  hair  as  a 
veil  to  screen  from  her  friend's  eyes  the  blush  that  covered 
her  face  at  the  abrupt  mention  of  a  name  connected  with 
such  painful  ideas  and  fraught  with  such  bitter  memories. 

"  He  really  is  dreadfully  unlucky.  You  know  what  an 
awful  accident  he  had  in  the  winter, — was  thrown  out  of  a 
hansom  and  all  but  killed ;  and  now  he  has  got  into  the 
most  fearful  scrape  in  India  and  will  have  to  leave  the 
regiment." 

Dulcie's  heart  beat  fast.  Mary  had  paused,  apparently 
expecting  some  sign  of  interest  from  her  auditor. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Dulcie,  interrogatively,  still  keeping  her 
hair  over  her  face  and  making  vigorous  pretence  of 
brushing. 

"  Well,"  returned  Mary,  "  it  seems  that  he  went  out  to 
India  in  the  same  ship  with  his  colonel's  wife.  Charlie 
has  met  her.  She  is  a  fair,  sentimental  sort  of  woman, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  267 

he  says,  a  tremendous  flirt,  but  a  good  deal  older  than 
Noel,  and  rather  good-looking, — made  up  very  well,  at 
least.  And  there  has  been  an  awful  row,  and  the  colonel 
has  applied  for  a  divorce,  and  Noel  is  to  be  co-respondent." 

Dulcie  could  not  utter  a  word.  Conflicting  feelings 
were  chasing  each  other  through  her  mind.  She  did  not 
know  whether  to  be  glad,  sorry,  indignant,  or  disgusted. 
She  had  fancied  that  he  was  too  devoted  to  her  to  care 
for  any  other  woman ;  but,  with  a  bitter  recollection  of 
Alwyne,  she  supposed  men  were  all  alike, — a  month  was 
long  enough  for  them  to  forget  one  woman  in  and  to  take 
up  with  another.  Perhaps,  now,  she  would  be  able  to 
free  herself  from  him,  and,  strange  to  say,  the  thought 
did  not  give  her  the  rapture  that  one  might  have  ex- 
pected. I  am  not  sure  that  in  her  heart  she  did  not  feel  a 
slightly-increased  respect  for  and  interest  in  her  husband. 

Mary  had  paused,  and  was  evidently  disappointed  that 
Dulcie  did  not  take  more  interest  in  this  very  exciting 
piece  of  gossip. 

"  You  don't  seem  surprised !"  she  said,  in  rather  a  mor- 
tified tone. 

"  I  am  never  surprised  at  anything  a  man  does,"  replied 
Dulcie ;  u  that  is,  if  it  is  anything  bad." 

"  Good  gracious !"  cried  Mary,  opening  her  eyes.  "  The 
idea  of  your  talking  like  that !  As  if  you  had  ever  had 
any  experience  of  their  badness !" 

"  Oh,  one  hears  enough,"  returned  Dulcie.  "  Here  is 
an  instance.  This  man  that  everybody  thought  so  nice 

foes  and  does  the  meanest  thing  possible, — pretended,  I 
are  say,  to  take  care  of  her  on  the  way  out,  and  then — 
that  is  the  end  of  it — he  gets  the  wretched  woman  into 
trouble  and  ruins  her  life." 

Dulcie  was  surprised  herself  at  the  angry  vehemence 
with  which  she  spoke. 

"  Charlie  says,"  resumed  Mary,  "  that  he  believes  it  was 
all  her  doing.  He  says  Noel  wasn't  that  sort,  but  she 
was  known  to  be  a  regular  flirt,  and  he  thinks  very  likely 
her  husband  wanted  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  that  it  is  a 
plant.  Now  I  suppose,  poor  fellow,  he'll  have  to  marry 
her ;  and  a  nice  thing  that  will  be  for  him,  to  be  tied  to  a 
woman  years  older  than  himself.  He  will  have  to  leave 
the  regiment,  which  will  be  an  awful  blow  to  him ;  and 


268  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Charlie  hears  that  he  is  coming  home  and  going  to  ex- 
change." 

"  Did  your  brother  tell  you  anything  more  ?"  asked 
Dulcie,  in  rather  a  husky  voice. 

"  No :  he  did  not  know  any  more.  He  has  not  heard 
from  Noel  himself,  but  thinks  he  is  sure  to  write,  as  they 
are  such  friends.  Yery  likely,  poor  fellow,  he  is  not  quite 
right  in  his  head  yet :  they  thought  at  one  time  he  never 
would  be.  You  know  he  came  to  our  party  in  the  season 
and  had  a  fit  there  and  was  obliged  to  be  taken  home  in 
a  cab.  I  think  you  had  left,  though,  before  it  happened.'* 

"  Yes,  I  believe  we  had  two  or  three  parties  that  night," 
answered  Dulcie,  hastily,  for  veracity,  as  we  know,  was 
not  her  strong  point. 

"  Anyhow,  his  career  is  done  for,"  said  Mary,  regretfully. 
"  If  he  had  been  rich  or  a  swell  he  might  have  got  out  of 
it ;  but,  as  it  is,  he  hasn't  a  chance." 

Dulcie  sat  over  the  fire  long  after  her  friend  left  her 
that  night,  wondering  what  would  happen.  The  divorce, 
she  supposed,  would  come  on  in  England,  and  perhaps  all 
would  come  out  about  Noel  being  a  married  man,  and  her 
name  would  be  dragged  in.  She  felt  dreadfully  perturbed 
in  her  mind,  and  would  have  given  the  world  to  have  had 
some  friend  to  confide  in  and  of  whom  she  could  ask  coun- 
sel. She  was  indignant  against  Noel :  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  recognized  the  fact  that  he  belonged  to  her.  He 
had  pretended  at  Brighton  to  be  broken-hearted  about  her, 
and  a  month  later  he  could  console  himself  with  a  married 
woman.  And  he  was  coming  back  to  England !  Well,  in 
any  case,  after  this  he  would  not  dare  to  approach  her : 
that  was  one  comfort. 

But  Dulcie  felt  wounded  in  spirit.  Little  less  than  a 
year  ago  both  he  and  Alwyne  had  seemed  so  passionately 
in  love  with  her  that  it  had  appeared  impossible  they 
should  think  of  any  other  woman  ;  and  now  one  was  mar- 
ried and  apparently  devoted  to  his  wife,  and  the  other  had 
ruined  his  career  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  who,  according 
to  Mary's  account,  was  neither  young  nor  in  any  way  de- 
sirable. She  was  glad,  Dulcie  told  herself,  with  unusual 
bitterness  of  feeling,  that  she  was  cut  off  from  any  more 
intimate  relations  with  men  in  the  future,  and  not  likely 
to  suifer  from  their  treachery  and  changeableness.  Of 


ONCE  AGAIN.  269 

course  after  this  she  would  never  have  anything  to  say  to 
Noel.  Perhaps  if  he  had  not  behaved  in  this  shameful 
way  she  might  in  time  have  been  reconciled  to  the  idea 
of  being  his  wife,  but  now  he  had  by  his  own  act  put  that 
utterly  out  of  the  question.  Dulcie,  who  was  not  natur- 
ally vindictive,  thought  that  she  would  like  to  have  the 
opportunity  of  telling  him  what  she  thought  of  his  be- 
havior. It  was  a  comfort  that  that  horrid  creature  who 
had,  no  doubt,  counted  on  marrying  him  would  be  disap- 
pointed. Dulcie  went  to  bed  extremely  perturbed  in  her 
mind,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  sleep  came  to  soothe 
her  angry  and  excited  feelings.  The  wrong  we  do  others 
and  the  wrong  they  do  us  present  themselves  to  us  in  such 
very  disproportionate  lights. 

Dulcie's  visit  to  the  Fawcetts  came  to  an  end  without 
her  hearing  anything  more  of  Noel  or  the  impending  di- 
vorce. If  Mary  heard  anything  she  would  be  sure  to  tell 
her,  Dulcie  thought ;  and  she  was  afraid  of  asking  any 
question,  for  fear  of  exciting  suspicion.  She  went  to 
spend  Christmas  with  Mrs.  Leslie.  Her  mother  was  far 
from  well :  the  nervous  excitement  and  irritation  of  the 
last  twelve  months  had  preyed  seriously  on  her  spirits, 
and  she  had,  besides,  suffered  for  some  weeks  from  a  bron- 
chial catarrh.  She  had  begged  Heine  as  a  very  great 
favor  to  accompany  her,  at  all  events  for  a  month  or  two, 
to  the  south  of  France,  and  Heine  had  given  up  another 
engagement  to  comply  with  her  request,  feeling  seriously 
concerned  about  her  aunt's  health  and  very  sorry  for  her 
mental  disquietude. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Dulcie  should  divide  her  time 
during  her  mother's  absence  between  Mrs.  Leslie  and  the 
Fawcetts.  It  was  alleged  as  the  reason  for  her  not  ac- 
companying Mrs.  Yernon  that  she  disliked  being  abroad, 
and  that  the  climate  of  the  Biviera  had  not  suited  her  the 
previous  winter. 

Dulcie  had  not  been  long  with  Mrs.  Leslie  before  she 
confided  to  her  Noel's  iniquity,  and  that  sprightly  lady 
took  an  immense  interest  in  the  recital,  and  reflected  to 
herself  that  it  was  quite  possible  this  shocking  behavior 
on  his  part  might  pique  Dulcie  into  taking  more  interest 
in  him,  even  though  at  first  it  might  be  interest  of  an  ad- 
verse kind.  She  made  sjreat  allowances  for  him  in  her 


270  ONCE  AGAIN. 

own  mind,  which  was  perhaps  a  little  too  liberal  and  toler- 
ant in  her  regard  for  masculine  weakness.  She  said  to 
herself, — 

"  But  what  on  earth  could  the  girl  expect?  He  was  de- 
voted to  her,  and  she  treated  him  shamefully  and  told  him 
plainly  that  her  only  desire  in  life  was  to  get  rid  of  him 
and  marry  another  man;  and  yet  she  is  surprised  that 
after  this  he  should  presume  to  look  at  a  woman,  instead 
of  spending  the  rest  of  his  life  in  regretting  her."  She 
put  this  in  a  mild  way  before  Dulcie,  who  refused  to  admit 
any  excuse  for  him,  though  perhaps  in  her  own  mind  she 
may  have  been  aware  that  Mrs.  Leslie's  ideas  were  far 
from  unreasonable. 

Her  meeting  with  Alwyne  had  had  one  beneficial  re- 
sult. She  no  longer  thought  of  him  in  the  romantic  way 
that  she  had  previously  done,  nor  could  she  lay  the  flat- 
tering unction  to  her  soul  that  he  was  indifferent  to  his 
wife  or  pining  after  her.  She  did  not  confide  to  Mrs.  Les- 
lie the  meeting  with  Alwyne:  her  vanity  was  too  sore  on 
the  subject,  and  perhaps  her  heart,  for  there  is  no  question 
that  she  had  given  him  all  that  she  had  of  love. 

She  spent  part  of  January  with  Mrs.  Leslie  at  Brighton, 
and  one  morning  when  she  had  been  alone  to  visit  her 
aunt,  who  lived  near  Kemp  Town,  she,  on  leaving  the 
house,  crossed  the  road  and  seated  herself  on  one  of  the 
embrasured  seats  overlooking  the  sea,  similar  to  that  on 
which  the  tragic  little  scene  with  Noel  had  been  enacted. 
It  was  a  still  morning :  the  sky  was  a  clear,  pale  blue,  and 
the  sun  gleamed  golden  on  the  little  rippling  waves  which 
a  faint  breeze  stirred.  Dulcie  felt  very  lonely  as  she  re- 
called the  summer  morning  when  she  had  been  so  hard  to 
Noel  because  of  his  rival.  Yes,  she  admitted  that  she  had 
been  hard  to  him,  and  she  remembered  for  the  first  time, 
with  a  twinge  of  pity,  how  sad  and  miserable  he  had 
looked.  And  what  was  his  offence  ?  Could  he  help  that 
dreadful  accident  which  had  caused  him  months  of  suffer- 
ing? Then,  just  as  she  was  growing  to  pity  and  to  feel 
some  softness  towards  him,  she  remembered  with  a  flush 
about  the  colonel's  wife  and  how  short  a  time  it  had  taken 
him  to  console  himself.  She  shut  up  her  heart  against 
him  in  a  moment,  and,  rising  abruptly,  walked  hastily 
home  to  rejoin  Mrs.  Leslie. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  271 

Mrs.  Vernon  had  recovered  from  her  bronchitis,  but  she 
did  not  intend  returning  to  England  before  the  end  of 
March.  She  had  met  many  pleasant  friends  at  Cannes, 
and  was  thoroughly  enjoying  the  life.  Above  all  things 
she  appreciated  the  relief  of  being  away  from  Dulcie. 
She  no  longer  felt  angry  or  bitter  against  her, — she  was 
thankful  to  hear  that  she  was  well  and  cheerful, — but  she 
felt  that  for  both  their  sakes  it  was  better  they  should  be 
apart  until  they  could  again  take  up  the  threads  of  life 
together.  When  she  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  on  the 
matter,  which  she  very  seldom  did,  the  future  looked  as 
blank  and  impossible  as  ever.  What  was  to  be  the  end  of 
it?  and  would  "the  wretched  husband,"  as  she  called 
Noel  to  herself,  continue  tamely  to  submit  to  being  kicked 
out  of  his  wife's  life,  or  would  he  at  some  time  or  other 
assert  and  vindicate  his  rights  ?  She  and  Keine  had  talked 
it  over  once  or  twice ;  but,  as  neither  knew  anything  of 
Noel's  nature  and  temperament,  and  both  had  been  so  en- 
tirely surprised  by  Dulcie's  unaccountable  and  unreason- 
able conduct,  they  could  only  indulge  in  speculations  which 
they  felt  to  be  unprofitable. 

Eeine  had  left  her  aunt  now,  and  was  in  Florence. 
Jack  had  confided  to  Mrs.  Herbert  the  little  scene  that 
had  taken  place  between  him  and  Mrs.  Chandos,  and  had, 
with  a  burning  face,  recounted  his  own  temerity,  and  Mrs. 
Herbert  had  drawn  not  unfavorable  augury  from  the  fact 
that,  after  this  rash  act  of  his,  Eeine  had  not  snubbed  him 
nor  treated  him  with  haughtiness,  but  had  been  quite  as 
friendly  as  before,  if  not  more  so.  When  she  saw  Eeine, 
just  before  she  went  abroad,  Jack's  champion  ventured  to 
say  a  word  in  his  behalf,  which  Mrs.  Chandos  received 
with  smiling  toleration  ;  but  when  her  friend  dwelt  on  the 
depths  of  his  feelings  the  younger  lady  affected  to  make 
light  of  them  and  refused  to  discuss  the  subject  seriously. 
Still,  Mrs.  Herbert  saw  indications  that  Eeine  was  getting 
somewhat  weary  of  a  wandering  life,  and  that  she  felt 
painfully  at  times  the  loneliness  of  her  lot  and  a  yearning 
towards  the  ties  of  home  and  family. 

February  had  come,  and  Dulcie,  according  to  promises 
exchanged,  had  returned  to  spend  a  month  with  the  Faw- 
cetts.  The  first  week  of  her  return  the  house  was  very 
quiet,  but  the  one  following  there  was  to  be  a  ball  in  the 


272  ONCE  AGAIN. 

house, — a  country  ball  and  a  hunt  ball :  so  that  it  would 
be  a  very  gay  time  indeed.  Charlie  Fawcett  was  in  Lon- 
don, and  was  to  return  on  the  Monday,  bringing  a  couple 
of  friends  with  him.  Two  young  ladies  were  to  arrive  the 
same  day,  and  the  house  would  be  full  of  guests.  Mary 
was  in  great  spirits,  anticipating  immense  pleasure  from 
the  coming  gayeties ;  and  Dulcie,  whose  spirits  were  much 
improved  of  late,  entered  cheerfully  into  her  friend's  feel- 
ings, and  was  ready  to  talk  about  the  coming  festivities  to 
Mary's  heart's  content. 

Monday  came,  and  Mrs.  Fawcett  with  her  daughter  and 
Dulcie  were  in  the  morning-room  after  breakfast.  She 
was  writing  a  letter;  the  two  girls  were  arranging 
flowers. 

A  telegram  was  brought  in,  and  Mrs.  Fawcett,  having 
glanced  over  it,  communicated  its  contents  to  her  com- 
panions without  turning  her  head. 

"  It  is  from  Charlie,"  she  said.  "  *  Byng,' "  reading  aloud, 
•' {  cannot  come.  Have  asked  Trevor.  Just  back  from 
India.' " 

Dulcie  trembled  violently :  she  felt  as  if  she  must  faint. 
Fortunately,  Mary  had  run  to  look  over  her  mother's 
shoulder  to  make  quite  sure  that  she  had  read  the  name 
correctly,  and  Dulcie  had  time  to  compose  herself.  A  mo- 
ment later  she  left  the  room  and  went  up-stairs.  She  sat 
down  in  the  nearest  chair  and  looked  vacantly  into  space. 
What  should  she  do  ?  How  could  she  possibly  avoid  this 
dreadful  meeting?  It  soon  became  obvious  to  her  that 
she  could  not  avoid  it.  It  was  impossible  to  make  any 
plausible  excuse  for  leaving  the  gayeties  for  which  she 
had  expressly  come.  Perhaps,  she  thought,  Charlie  would 
tell  Noel  that  she  was  a  guest  in  the  house,  and  then,  of 
course,  if  he  had  any  gentlemanlike  feeling,  he  would 
invent  a  pretext  for  staying  away  even  at  the  last 
moment. 

When  she  returned  to  the  morning-room  she  found  Mary 
alone. 

"  It  is  awfully  daring  of  Charlie,  I  think,"  said  the  young 
lady,  "  to  ask  Mr.  Trevor  here  under  the  circumstances. 
Mamma  will  be  furious  with  him  when  she  knows  what 
has  happened.  I  really  wonder  at  him." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Dulcie,  with  what  calmness  she  could 


ONCE  AGAIN.  273 

muster.     "  And  it  is  sure  to  come  out  sooner  or  later. 
Such  a  disgraceful  affair,  too !" 


CHAPTEK  XXXI. 

WE  must  retrace  our  steps  in  order  to  pick  up  one  ot 
the  threads  of  the  story  and  go  back  to  poor  Noel  after 
his  last  interview  with  the  wife  who  rejected  and  repu- 
diated him.  He  was  as  nearly  heart-broken  as  ever  was  a 
kind-hearted,  affectionate  young  fellow  who  adored  a 
woman  in  vain.  All  the  delightful  visions  which  had 
cheered  his  convalescent  hours,  of  having  his  darling 
restored  to  his  longing  arms,  were  rudely  shattered :  in 
vain  he  reminded  himself  of  his  rights, — of  the  fact  that 
she  was  his  lawful  wife,  and  that  he  could  compel  her  to 
live  with  him.  But  the  poor  lad  had  not  counted  on  a 
captive,  an  unwilling  victim.  Surely  if  any  man  ever  had 
reason  to  believe  that  he  was  beloved  for  himself,  it  was, 
up  to  the  moment  of  his  terrible  awakening,  Noel.  He 
was  poor,  of  small  social  importance,  and  his  bride  had 
given  up  a  happy,  luxurious  home  for  his  sake,  and  had 
been  ready  to  go  with  him  into  the  wide  world,  to  face 
poverty  with  him  and  to  follow  whatever  fortune  might 
be  his. 

Noel  was  too  chivalrous  of  heart  to  lay  the  blame  on 
her;  indeed,  it  is  very  difficult  to  make  a  good-hearted 
young  man  believe  anything  against  his  idol :  he  was 
much  more  prone  to  believe  that  devilish  arts  and  ma- 
chinations had  been  practised  on  her  guileless  mind,  either 
by  Alwyne  or  her  mother.  She  had  probably,  in  the  first 
place,  been  influenced  against  him,  and  had  then  fallen  a 
prey  to  the  man  who  now  exercised  this  dreadful  influence 
over  her.  And,  as  we  know,  these  suspicions  and  surmises 
were  not  very  wide  of  the  mark. 

There  was  only  one  thing  for  him  to  do  now,  and  that 
was  to  get  away.  She  was  his ;  but  he  would  not  claim 
her,  since  she  was  unwilling :  he  had  no  taste  for  a  woman 
who  loathed  and  revolted  against  his  caresses ,  he  only 
hungered  for  her  love.  The  future  was  a  blunk  to  him : 


274  ONCE  AGAIN. 

on  what  would  happen  in  the  days  to  come,  he  could  not 
even  attempt  to  speculate :  the  only  thought  which  smiled 
upon  him  now  was  that  in  which  he  pictured  the  possi- 
bility of  a  soldier's  death.  Since  he  might  not  live  for 
her,  how  gladly  would  he  die  for  his  love !  But  there  was 
the  bitterness  of  leaving  her  to  another;  and  few  men  are 
heroic  enough  to  efface  themselves  from  a  woman's  life  in 
order  that  she  may  repose  happily  on  the  breast  of  a  rival. 
Sore  indeed  was  the  poor  fellow's  heart  as  he  made  ar- 
rangements to  leave  his  country,  and  with  it  hope  and  all 
he  had  counted  upon  to  make  life  dear.  A  draft  of  his 
regiment  was  on  the  eve  of  going  out,  and  it  happened 
that  the  officer  appointed  to  take  it  had  particular  reason 
for  wishing  to  remain  in  England,  so  the  exchange  was 
effected  easily  enough. 

The  first  person  he  met  on  board  ship  was  Mrs.  Frank- 
lin, the  wife  of  his  colonel.  Noel  had  never  seen  very 
much  of  her:  he  was  aware  that  she  had  the  reputation 
of  being  given  to  flirtation,  and  that  her  husband  was  re- 
ported to  be  jealous  of  her.  Meeting  her  in  his  voyage 
out  inspired  him  with  no  feeling  of  any  kind :  he  was 
neither  pleased  nor  sorry  to  find  her  his  travelling-com- 
panion :  all  women  save  one  were  absolutely  indifferent  to 
him.  It  was  not  so  with  Mrs.  Franklin.  She  could  not 
exist  without  a  squire  to  pay  her  attention  and  look  after 
her  comforts,  and  she  at  once  determined  that  Noel  should 
be  her  property  and  laid  herself  out  to  captivate  him.  She 
had  been  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  still  preserved  her 
looks  by  the  help  of  a  little  judicious  recourse  to  art,  not 
patent  to  the  uncritical  eye.  She  had  a  caressing  and 
sympathetic  manner,  and,  although  she  was  really  a  heart- 
less and  selfish  little  woman,  she  was  clever  enough  to 
make  men  believe  her  exactly  what  she  chose  to  seem. 
She  was  annoyed  to  find  this  good-looking  and  well- 
mannered  young  man  afflicted  with  melancholy ;  his  sighs, 
his  dejected  appearance,  his  lack  of  interest  in  everything, 
bored  her  exceedingly ;  but,  as  she  intended  to  enlist  his 
services  during  the  voyage,  she  reflected  how  best  to  gain 
an  influence  over  him,  and  selected  sympathy  as  the  most 
suitable  card  to  play  on  the  occasion. 

Noel  was  like  a  child  in  her  hands  :  he  was  soon  ready 
to  dance  to  any  tune  which  the  clever  little  lady  piped, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  275 

and  after  a  few  days  he  could  not  be  happy  out  of  her 
presence.  For,  by  her  pretence  of  sympathy,  she  had 
gradually  drawn  from  him  the  story  of  his  woes,  and  in 
time  he  confided  to  her  everything  except  the  name  of  the 
girl  who  had  made  him  so  profoundly  miserable.  He  be- 
came cheerful  and  almost  happy  after  indulging  in  the 
unspeakable  relief  of  talking  about  his  woes,  for  he  had 
been  forced,  up  to  the  present  time,  to  keep  them  to  him- 
self. The  story  was  sufficiently  strange  to  be  interesting, 
and  Mrs.  Franklin  encouraged  his  confidences,  and  pre- 
tended ten  times  more  interest  in  them  than  she  really 
felt. 

She  had  the  same  fair-haired,  pretty,  feminine  type  of 
beauty  as  Dulcie,  and  in  some  ways  reminded  Noel  of  his 
lost  love,  and  he  became  so  devoted  to  her  that  he  was 
perpetually  beside  her,  showing  her  the  greatest  attention, 
and  anxious  to  anticipate  her  every  wish.  It  was,  there- 
fore, not  surprising  that  his  behavior  gave  wrong  impres- 
sions to  people  who  witnessed  it.  Mrs.  Franklin  knew 
quite  well  that  he  was  not  in  love  with  her,  but  it  suited 
her  vanity  to  let  it  be  thought  that  he  was  her  slave. 

As  for  Noel,  he  felt  the  sincerest  affection  for  the  kind, 
pretty,  tender-hearted  little  woman,  as  he  thought  her, 
and  would  have  gone  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  her, 
but  love,  love  such  as  he  felt  for  Dulcie,  was  furthest  from 
his  thoughts.  There  was  no  passion  in  the  eyes  with 
which  he  looked  at  her ;  his  pulses  never  beat  a  shade 
faster  at  the  touch  of  her  hand;  his  feeling  was  the  tran- 
quil affection  he  might  have  had  for  a  beloved  sister. 

Mrs.  Franklin  bestowed  confidences  on  him  in  return, — 
gave  him  to  understand  that  she  was  not  appreciated  by 
her  lord,  and  evoked  much  sympathy  from  him  by  the 
narration  of  her  grievances.  She  did  not  bring  any 
serious  charge  against  the  colonel,  as  indeed  a  cleverer 
woman  than  she  would  have  been  puzzled  to  do.  The 
friendly  relations  commenced  on  the  passage  out  were 
carried  on  after  their  arrival  in  India.  Noel  continued  to 
find  his  greatest  happiness  in  the  society  of  his  colonel's 
wife,  which  he  constantly  sought.  Being  absolutely  free 
from  evil  intent,  he  was  unaware  that  the  lady's  reputa- 
tion suffered  from  his  attentions,  but  she,  although  not 
equally  ignorant,  did  not  discourage  them,  being  piqued 


276  ONCE  AGAIN. 

into  greater  warmth  of  feeling  for  him  by  his  want  of 
passion  for  her.  She  wanted  to  conquer  him  and  to  make 
him  forget  Dulcie :  it  hurt  her  vanity  that  he  should  only 
regard  her  as  a  sister,  and  that  she  had  no  power  over 
him  more  than  friendship  gives.  A  word,  a  signal,  from 
Dulcie,  and  he  would  have  had  no  eyes  or  ears  for  any 
other  woman,  but  would  have  been  ready  to  overleap  any 
obstacle  to  get  back  to  her. 

People  talked,  as  people  talk  everywhere  but  notably  in 
India,  and  the  colonel  got  an  inkling  of  it,  greatly  to  his 
displeasure.  Men  have  different  ways  of  showing  and 
feeling  jealousy :  some  hate  the  man  whom  they  believe 
to  be  their  rival,  and  feel  comparatively  little  rancor 
towards  the  woman  who  causes  their  misery ;  others  feel 
all  the  bitterness  against  the  woman,  and  can  be  perfectly 
civil  and  behave  with  apparent  unsuspiciousness  to  the 
man  whom  she  seems  to  favor.  The  latter  was  the  col- 
onel's case.  He  was  furious  with  his  wife,  but  perfectly 
civil  and  courteous  to  Noel,  so  that  the  subaltern  never 
for  a  moment  suspected  the  tornado  that  was  threatening. 
He  did  not  feel  so  kindly  to  his  superior  officer  as  he 
would  have  liked  to  do,  because  he  believed  him  to  be 
harsh  and  unkind  to  his  wife ;  and  Noel,  being  her  avowed 
champion,  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  any  one  vexing 
her,  and  was  quite  ready  to  fight  her  battles. 

Mrs.  Franklin  was  careful  not  to  let  him  know  that  he 
was  the  cause  of  the  frequent  dissensions  between  herself 
and  her  husband,  as  she  shrewdly  suspected  that  he  would 
at  once  insist  on  the  misunderstanding  being  cleared  up, 
as  much  out  of  justice  to  himself  for  Dulcie's  sake,  as  for 
her  own. 

Late  one  evening  Noel  was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Franklin, 
and  she  was  employed  in  confiding  to  him  her  sorrows, — 
the  cruelty  of  her  husband,  and  her  own  wretchedness, 
which  she  declared  herself  unable  longer  to  endure.  She 
wept ;  she  was  evidently  grievously  afflicted  ;  and  tender 
hearted  Noel  was  miserable  at  the  sight  of  her  tribulation 
and  full  of  eager  desire  to  console  her.  He  drew  his  chair 
close  beside  her ;  he  affectionately  stroked  and  clasped 
the  hand  that  she  put  in  his ;  he  was  so  full  of  tenderness 
and  sympathy  that  it  broke  out  into  words  of  endear- 
ment. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  277 

"  My  poor  little  darling !"  he  said,  moved  to  strong  feel- 
ing. "  I  wish  to  God  I  could  do  something  for  you !  Can- 
not I  get  you  away  from  that  brute !" 

And  with  this,  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  kissing  the  hand 
he  held,  that  brute,  who,  presumably,  had  been  watching 
his  opportunity,  dashed  in,  aimed  a  blow  at  Noel  which 
nearly  upset  him  out  of  his  chair,  and  prepared  to  follow 
it  up  with  another,  meantime  looking  like  a  madman  and 
pouring  forth  the  most  opprobrious  epithets  on  each  of  the 
pair. 

Now,  it  may  be  all  very  well  for  a  man  with  a  guilty 
conscience  to  make  a  passive  target  of  himself  for  the 
blows  of  an  outraged  husband,  but  Noel's  conscience  being 
as  clear  as  the  sun  at  noonday,  he  had  no  intention  of  sub- 
mitting tamely  to  chastisement:  he  was,  besides,  much  in- 
censed against  the  colonel  for  his  treatment  of  his  wife. 
So  he  promptly  got  on  his  legs  and  showed  fight,  and, 
being  young  and  athletic,  was  more  than  a  match  for  his 
assailant. 

Mrs.  Franklin  shrieked,  and,  at  the  sound  of  hurrying 
feet,  the  colonel,  not  wishing  to  be  found  engaged  in  com- 
bat with  his  subaltern,  ceased  his  attack,  and,  pointing 
furiously  to  the  door,  desired  Noel  to  be  gone.  But  Noel 
absolutely  refused  to  go  until  he  received  an  explanation. 
It  was  fortunate  that  at  this  moment  Major  Black,  who 
had  been  with  the  colonel  in  another  part  of  the  house, 
appeared  upon  the  scene.  He  shrewdly  surmised  the 
cause  of  the  affray,  and,  being  well  disposed  to  both  men, 
was  anxious  to  act  as  mediator. 

Mrs.  Franklin  threw  herself  hysterically  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  save  me !  save  me !  part  them !  part  them !"  she 
shrieked,  in  terror ;  and  the  major,  thinking  she  would  be 
better  out  of  the  way,  escorted  her  trembling  form  to  the 
door  and  begged  her  in  a  friendly  tone  to  seek  her  own 
apartment. 

"  No,  by  G — !"  roared  the  colonel.  "  She  does  not  stop 
under  my  roof.  She  shall  go  out  neck  and  crop  with  her 
lover  here !" 

Noel,  meanwhile,  stood  his  ground  with  considerable 
dignity,  though  the  major  made  a  friendly  gesture  with 
his  head  as  though  advising  his  departure. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Noel.  "  1  do  not  stir  from  here 

24 


278  ONCE  AGAIN. 

until  I  know  the  meaning  of  Colonel  Franklin's  behavior 
and  the  reason  of  his  attack  upon  me." 

The  good-natured  major  reflected  that,  for  a  young  one. 
Noel  was  a  pretty  cool  hand. 

The  colonel  swore  in  a  manner  appalling  to  listen  to. 

"Yow  want  an  explanation!"  he  shouted,  interlarding 
every  word  with  an  oath.  "  It  is  not  enough  that  I 
find  you  sitting  hand  in  hand  with  my  wife  and  proposing 
to  take  her  away  from  'that  brutej  as  you  were  good 
enough  to  call  me !" 

"  If  you  heard  me  say  that,"  said  Noel,  "you  must  have 
been  listening  at  the  door,  which  is  not  quite  the  action 
of  a  gentleman  ;  and  if  you  can  behave  like  this  before  a 
woman  who  has  not  done  the  least  harm  in  the  world,  I 
think  it  is  high  time  she  did  leave  you." 

Here  the  colonel  made  a  feint  of  rushing  at  Noel  again, 
but  the  major  interposed  his  portly  person,  for,  like  the 
major  of  tradition,  he  was  portly. 

"  Come,  come,  colonel !"  he  said,  *'  command  yourself! 
And  you,"  to  Noel,  "  go, — there's  a  good  fellow !  I'll  see 
you  by  and  by." 

"  No,"  repeated  Noel,  with  great  determination,  "  I  shall 
not  stir  from  this  room  until  the  matter  is  cleared  up.  If 
the  colonel  imagines  that  I  have  done  him  any  wrong,  or 
that  there  is  anything  between  Mrs.  Franklin  and  myself, 
he  is  entirely  mistaken.  I  have  the  greatest  friendship 
for  her,  but  I  look  upon  her  as  though  she  were  my  sister, 
and  if  he  saw  me  kiss  her  hand  to-night,  and  heard  me 
speak  to  her  in  a  manner  which  he  may  think  too  familiar, 
it  was  nothing  but  sheer  pity  and  sympathy  at  seeing  her 
so  distressed  and  unhappy." 

Not  only  was  the  major  staggered  by  Noel's  coolness, 
but  the  colonel  was  equally  so.  He  believed  him  to  be 
brazening  it  out,  and  cried,  furiously, — 

"  All  right,  sir.  We  will  see  what  sort  of  account  you 
give  of  yourself  in  the  divorce  court." 

"  Divorce  court !"  echoed  Noel.  "  I  think,  sir,  you  must 
be  out  of  your  mind.  I  take  my  solemn  oath  before  God 
that  nothing  but  the  purest  friendship  has  ever  existed 
between  myself  and  Mrs.  Franklin." 

"  Ha,  ha !  we  shall  see !  we  shall  see !"  roared  the 
colonel. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  279 

"Now,  Trevor,"  exclaimed  the  major,  "for  God's  sake 
get  out  of  this,  like  a  good  fellow.  Come  round  to  me 
presently." 

And  Noel,  with  his  head  well  up,  marched  out,  looking 
like  anything  but  a  guilty  lover  discovered. 

The  colonel  was  so  violent  about  his  wife  when  his  sub- 
altern had  departed  that  the  kind-hearted  major  was  afraid 
to  leave  her  under  the  same  roof  with  him,  and  ended  by 
carrying  her  off  to  his  wife's  protection.  Meantime,  he 
implored  Franklin,  for  his  own  sake  and  the  sake  of  the 
regiment,  not  to  have  a  scandal,  and  declared  that  he  would 
thoroughly  investigate  the  matter  and  come  round  again 
in  the  morning. 

The  major  was  a  good  deal  puzzled  about  Noel.  He 
knew  that  he  and  Mrs.  Franklin  had  been  much  talked 
about,  and  he  did  not  in  his  own  mind  think  they  could 
be  quite  as  innocent  as  the  young  man  protested  ;  but,  after 
his  high  and  lofty  bearing,  the  major  said  to  himself  that 
he  must  either  have  spoken  the  truth  or  be  the  most  thun- 
dering blackguard  in  creation. 

He  found  Noel  waiting  for  him  on  his  return  home. 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,"  said  the  major,  shaking  his 
head  with  a  somewhat  reproachful  meaning  in  voice  and 
gesture. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Noel,  "  it  is  a  very  bad  business  for  any 
woman  to  be  tied  to  a  maniac  like  that." 

"  Come,  come,"  responded  the  major,  "  you  had  better 
get  off  the  stilts  with  me.  You  know  it  is  a  devilish  awk- 
ward position  for  both  you  and  the  lady.  You  cannot 
justify  sitting  hand  in  hand  with  her  and  abusing  her 
husband  to  her  behind  his  back!" 

"Why,  major,"  cried  Noel,  "what  else  could  any  man 
with  a  heart  in  his  body  do  when  he  saw  the  dearest, 
kindest  little  woman  in  the  world,  the  woman  who  had 
been  his  best  friend  in  trouble,  but  try  to  comfort  her  ?" 

"  My  dear  chap,"  retorted  the  major,  "  it  is  all  very 
well,  but  a  man  is  not  allowed  either  by  law  or  by  public 
opinion  to  comfort  another  man's  wife  in  that  sort  of  way. 
And  you  must  know  quite  well  that  you  two  have  been  a 
great  deal  talked  about  of  late." 

"  Talked  about!"  uttered  Noel,  looking  blank. 

The  major  made  an  impatient  gesture. 


280  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  You're  a  devilish  good  actor,  Trevor,"  he  said,  "  but  if 
I  am  to  be  your  friend  you  had  better  drop  that  sort  of 
thing." 

Noel  looked  half  astonished,  half  indignant. 

"  I  am  not  an  actor,  major,  and  never  was  one.  Neither 
am  I  a  liar." 

"  "Well,  well,"  said  the  good-natured  major,  "  I  cannot 
understand  your  being  ignorant  of  what  every  one  else 
knows.  You  have  been  like  Mrs.  Franklin's  shadow  ever 
since  you  came  out ;  and  of  course  it  has  made  people 
talk.  I  don't  say  there  has  been  any  absolute  harm, — 
I  hope  for  everybody's  sake  there  has  not, — but  when  a 
man  is  always  in  a  woman's  pocket,  people  are  bound  to 
talk.  Anyhow,  the  colonel  has  got  wind  of  it,  and, 
though  he's  a  good-hearted  fellow  in  the  main,  he's  as 
jealous  as  the  devil.  And  she's  a  regular  little  flirt.  This 
is  not  the  first  time  there  has  been  a  row." 

"  She  is  the  best  woman  that  ever  breathed,"  cried  Noel, 
stoutly,  "and  she's  as  pure  as  an  angel.  Never  once,  I 
swear,  has  a  single  word  passed  between  us  that  her  hus- 
band might  not  have  heard,  except  so  far  as  his  own 
brutal  behavior  might  have  made  it  unpleasant  to  his  ears, 
like  to-night.  I  was  in  awful  trouble  when  I  met  her, 
and  she  has  been  like  a  sister  to  me  all  through.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  her,  I  think  sometimes  I  should  have 
been  tempted  to  blow  my  brains  out.  Look  here,  major, 
I  will  tell  you  about  it ;  but  I  trust  to  your  honor  to  keep 
secret,  unless  you  think,  for  Mrs.  Franklin's  sake,  the 
colonel  ought  to  know  it.  I  am  married."  And  Noel 
blushed  like  a  girl.  "  I  adore  my  wife, — there  is  not 
another  woman  in  the  world  I  would  look  at  in  that  sort 
of  way, — and  I  am  separated  from  her,  not  through  any 
fault  of  mine.  It  has  nearly  driven  me  mad.  Mrs. 
Franklin  knows  all  about  it,  and  that  is  why  I  have  been 
with  her  so  much,  because,  like  the  dear,  kind  soul  she  is, 
she  was  sorry  for  me,  and  would  always  let  me  talk  to 
her  about  my  miserable  affairs." 

The  major  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  for  the  most  sceptical  mind  to  doubt  the  truth 
of  Noel's  statement,  so  simply  and  unaffectedly  did  he 
make  it. 

"  It  only  shows,"  said  the  major,  "  how  apt  people  are  to 


ONCE  AGAIN.  281 

jump  to  wrong  conclusions.  But  the  deuce  will  be  to 
make  the  colonel  believe  it.  And  I  don't  see  how  you  are 
to  get  over  the  fact  of  having  been  found  kissing  her  hand 
and  calling  him  a  brute.  Even  if  he  makes  it  up  with 
her,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  stop  in  the  regiment  after 
what  happened  to-night." 

Noel  groaned  in  spirit.  What  dreadful  Nemesis  pur- 
sued him  and  made  him  bring  trouble  on  every  woman  he 
cared  for?  He  had  thought  at  first,  in  the  innocence  of 
his  heart,  that  a  few  words  of  explanation  on  his  part 
would  suffice  to  put  everything  straight ;  but  he  found,  to 
his  cost,  that  you  may  not,  even  with  the  most  innocent 
intentions,  call  another  man's  wife  darling,  and  himself  a 
brute,  nor  kiss  her  hands  and  hold  them  in  yours,  though 
you  feel  to  her  as  a  brother  and  though  your  heart  is  as 
pure  towards  her  as  the  driven  snow. 

The  poor  major  got  almost  thin  in  his  efforts  to  mediate. 
The  colonel  raged  like  a  wild  bull,  and  would  talk  of  noth- 
ing but  divorce.  If  Noel  had  a  wife,  so  much  the  greater 
blackguard  was  he  to  behave  in  the  way  he  had  done. 
Mrs.  Franklin  went  away  to  stay  with  friends  whilst  the 
kind-hearted  major  and  his  equally  kind-hearted  wife  did 
their  best  to  smooth  matters  down  for  her  with  her  hus- 
band and  in  the  regiment.  For  of  course  the  affair  got 
noised  abroad  ;  and  that  was  how  the  news  travelled  home 
to  Charlie  Fawcett. 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  Noel  should  have  leave  of 
absence  until  he  could  exchange  into  another  regiment. 
At  this  juncture  a  very  unexpected  piece  of  good  fortune 
jumped  into  the  scale  which  the  blind  goddess  seemed  to 
be  holding  so  unequally.  Noel,  who  had  been  at  his  wits' 
end  about  matters  of  finance,  received  the  intelligence  that 
the  aunt  who  had  nursed  him  through  his  illness  had  added 
to  her  benefactions  by  dying  suddenly  and  leaving  him 
some  six  hundred  a  year. 

Straightway  he  resolved  to  go  to  England.  He  knew 
that  Alwyne  Temple  was  married,  and  his  heart  burned 
with  the  hope  that  perhaps,  now  that  his  rival  was  re- 
moved, Dulcie  might  look  less  coldly  upon  him.  And  as 
he  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  (heaven  knows  that  vanity 
was  the  last  foible  of  which  he  was  guilty)  and  saw  his 
bronzed  face  with  the  glow  of  restored  health  upon  it,  and 

24* 


282  ONCE  AGAIN. 

his  stalwart,  vigorous  figure,  he  thought  that  he  might 
perhaps  have  a  better  chance  than  the  poor,  haggard  in- 
valid who  had  evidently  inspired  such  unpleasing  emotions 
in  Dulcie's  breast. 

But  whatever  he  might  feel  of  hope  or  agreeable  antici- 
pation was  dashed  by  the  thought  that  he  had,  however 
innocently,  brought  misfortune  on  the  woman  who  had 
been  so  good  to  him,  and  whom  he  would  so  fain  have 
protected  and  defended.  He  was  not  even  allowed  to  see 
her  before  leaving  India,  the  major  and  his  wife  uniting  to 
assure  him  that  nothing  could  be  so  fatal  to  Mrs.  Frank- 
lin's interests  as  an  interview.  He  wrote  her  a  letter  such 
as  the  fulness  of  his  heart  dictated,  and  confided  it  to  the 
major. 

And  it  was  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine  through  black  dark- 
ness when  at  Malta  he  got  a  telegram  from  that  trusty 
friend : 

"  All  will  yet  be  well.    Am  writing  you  to  London.11 

For  Noel's  heart  was  too  good  to  have  allowed  him  to 
be  happy  whilst  a  woman  was  suffering  for  his  sake,  even 
though  he  had  been  going  straight  to  Dulcie's  arms.  And, 
as  we  know,  he  was  far  enough  yet  from  that  Paradise. 


CHAPTEE  XXXII. 

NOEI  knew  that  he  was  going  to  meet  Dulcie,  and  his 
heart  beat  to  suffocation  at  the  thought.  The  previous 
afternoon  he  had  met  Charlie  Fawcett  in  Pall  Mall,  and 
they  had  dined  together  at  a  club.  Charlie  was  not  long 
in  letting  Noel  know  the  rumors  that  had  reached  him, 
and  Noel  at  once  gave  his  friend  the  correct  version  of  the 
affair.  Charlie  was  greatly  relieved.  If  there  was  not 
going  to  be  a  divorce,  if  Noel  had  not  done  anything  to 
scandalize  morality  and  propriety,  there  was  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  be  invited  to  the  Grange  ;  and,  as  Byng 
had  that  very  day  thrown  him  over,  he  invited  Noel  in  his 
stead. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  festive  week  at  our  place,"  he 
said.  "  Three  balls  and  a  dinner.  The  Pratt  girls  are 


ONCE  AGAIN.  283 

coming,  and  Dulcio  Yernon  is  with  us.  You  remember 
Dulcie?  a  pretty  little  girl.  By  the  way,  I  think  you 
rather  spooned  her  last  winter,  didn't  you  ?" 

There  was  no  concealing  the  vivid  crimson  that  cov- 
ered Noel's  face  at  these  words.  Charlie  saw  it,  and  good- 
naturedly  pretended  to  be  occupied  with  something  of 
absorbing  interest  in  the  street. 

Not  for  one  moment  did  Noel  hesitate  about  his  answer. 
He  did  not  stop  to  reflect  how  Dulcie  would  feel  at  seeing 
him,  or  to  think  of  the  embarrassment  of  the  situation : 
he  thought  of  nothing  but  that  he  was  burning  to  see  her, 
to  know  if  the  future  held  any  hope  for  him. 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,"  he  answered.  "  Are 
you  sure  that  I  shall  not  be  putting  Mrs.  Fawcett  out  ? 
Has  she  room  for  me  ?" 

"  Lots  of  room,  and  only  too  delighted,"  replied  Charlie, 
cordially.  "  I  will  wire  to  her  in  the  morning,  and  we 
will  go  down  by  the  three-thirty.  I  will  give  you  up  my 
share  of  .Dulcie,  if  you  like.  My  people  are  rather  keen 
about  making  up  a  match  between  us  ;  but,  though  I  don't 
know  a  nicer  girl,  matrimony  is  not  my  game  at  present. 
She'll  have  a  nice  little  fortune.  It  would  come  in  handj' 
for  you,  old  chap." 

He  was  not  aware  that  he  was  hurting  his  friend's  feel 
ings  by  this  remark. 

"  I  am  not  quite  such  a  pauper  as  I  was,"  Noel  replied. 
And  he  told  Charlie  of  the  modest  fortune  to  which  he 
had  succeeded,  and  Charlie  congratulated  him  with  im- 
mense cordiality.  He  had  always  been  fond  of  Noel,  and 
was  delighted  at  his  good  fortune. 

"  Not  that  you  could  keep  a  girl  like  Dulcie  Yernon  on 
seven  hundred  a  year,  or  anything  like  it,"  he  remarked ; 
and  Noel  thought  to  himself  on  how  very  much  smaller  a 
sum  he  had  once  had  the  temerity  to  think  of  keeping 
her.  The  idea  seemed  to  him  now  little  short  of  madness. 

What  would  she  do?  How  would  she  receive  him? 
All  night  long  he  lay  awake,  thinking,  wondering, — some- 
times full  of  dread,  sometimes  venturing  to  hope  a  little. 
She  had  loved  him  once ;  why  not  again  ? 

On  the  journey  down,  he  was  so  nervous  and  ill  at  ease 
that  Charlie  could  not  help  remarking  it,  and  wondered 
Whether  he  was  still  feeling  the  effects  of  his  accident. 


284  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  How  is  your  head  now  ?"  he  asked,  presently.  "  Has 
it  got  all  right?" 

"  Yes,"  Noel  answered.  "  I  think  I  have  got  over  it  at 
last.  Every  now  and  then  I  get  a  splitting  headache  if  I 
am  over-tired  or  over-excited,  but  that  is  all." 

"Beastly  thing  a  headache!"  remarked  Charlie. 

"  Yes,"  Noel  assented.  "  I  never  knew  what  it  meant 
before." 

After  this  he  settled  down,  surmising  that  Charlie  had 
observed  his  uneasiness. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  manor-house  every  one  had 
gone  to  dress  for  dinner,  and,  much  as  Noel  longed  to  see 
Dulcie,  it  was  almost  a  relief,  in  the  state  of  tension  of  his 
nerves,  to  have  the  meeting  delayed. 

As  he  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  the  gong  was  in 
the  act  of  sounding.  His  head  swam  as  he  approached 
Mrs.  Fawcett,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left. 
She  greeted  him  warmly,  and  Mary  came  up  and  shook 
hands  and  said  how  glad  they  were  to  see  him  back  from 
India.  She  glanced  at  the  reprobate,  as  she  considered 
him,  with  considerable  interest,  and  thought  him  wonder- 
fully improved  in  looks. 

The  procession  to  the  dining-room  had  commenced, 
and  Mrs.  Fawcett  said,  hurriedly, — 

"  Will  you  take  Miss  Yernon  ?  You  are  old  friends,  I 
think.  I  need  not  re-introduce  you." 

Then  Noel  followed  the  eyes  of  his  hostess,  and  saw 
Dulcie  sitting  at  a  little  distance,  dressed  all  in  white  and 
looking  like  a  beautiful  fairy.  For  a  moment  his  head 
reeled,  his  heart  threatened  to  choke  him,  and  then  he 
was  standing  before  her,  holding  out  his  arm.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  say  which  of  the  two  trembled  the  more. 
Fortunately,  no  one  remarked  their  confusion.  Neither 
spoke  a  word  until  they  had  taken  their  places,  and  then, 
as  a  woman  often  has  the  most  presence  of  mind  in  a  so- 
cial emergency,  Dulcie,  without  looking  at  him,  asked  if 
he  had  not  had  a  cold  journey.  So  presently  Noel  found 
himself  talking  platitudes  in  the  most  approved  fashion, 
whilst  he  made  pretence  of  eating  his  dinner;  and  Dulcie 
made  no  pretence,  but  declined  everything  that  was  of- 
fered her  after  the  soup.  For  when  the  heart  is  beating 
with  excitement  the  digestive  organs  retire  from  the  con- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  285 

test  and  decline  to  perform  their  appointed  office.  It  was 
a  singular  situation  in  which  Noel  found  himself.  He  was 
sitting  beside  his  own  wife,  talking  to  her  as  if  she  were 
a  stranger,  whilst  his  heart  was  beating,  his  pulses  throb- 
bing wildly,  and  he  was  dying  to  catch  her  to  his  heart 
and  to  pour  forth  the  pent-up  stream  of  love  and  endear- 
ing words  into  the  little  ear  so  close  to  his  lips. 

As  for  Dulcie,  she  was  in  a  state  of  mental  bewilder- 
ment, and  could  not  by  any  means  have  told  what  her  real 
sentiments  were.  She  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  did 
not  regard  Noel  with  the  repugnance  and  aversion  which 
she  had  felt  for  him  at  their  last  meeting.  He  was  not 
the  haggard,  miserable-looking  creature  who  then  craved 
her  pity,  but  a  handsome,  to  all  appearance  self-possessed, 
and  resolute-looking  man.  She  suddenly  remembered  the 
enormity  of  his  recent  crime,  and,  sad  to  record,  felt  an 
increased  respect  for  him,  mingled  with  a  feeling  of  re- 
sentment and  an  acute  recollection  that  he  had  wronged 
her  shamefully.  Primed  with  this  reflection,  she  dropped 
the  shy  and  timid  manner  she  had  at  first  assumed,  and 
put  on  a  disdainful  and  affronted  air. 

Noel  had  only  one  object  in  life.  It  was  to  make  her 
care  for  him,  and  to  prevail  upon  her  to  accept  accom- 
plished facts,  and  take  him  not  only  nominally  but  actu- 
ally for  better  for  worse.  She  was  his  wife,  it  was  true ; 
but  unless  she  consented  to  accept  the  situation  he  felt 
she  was  as  far  removed  from  him  as  though  the  ceremony 
had  never  been  performed.  Instinct  warned  him  that  he 
must  of  all  things  beware  of  frightening  her ;  but  he  could 
not  in  the  least  make  up  his  mind  whether  a  bold  or  a 
humble  bearing  would  have  the  better  chance  of  success. 
He  had  no  idea  that  she  was  aware  of  the  episode  in  India, 
and  was  furthest  from  supposing,  having  a  clear  con- 
science in  the  matter,  that  she  was  looking  upon  him  with 
furtive  interest  as  a  monster  of  iniquity  and  depravity. 

There  was  to  be  an  impromptu  dance  at  the  Grange 
after  dinner,  and  Noel  had  been  apprised  of  this.  He  was 
wondering  whether  his  wife  would  dance  with  him,  and 
looking  forward  with  inexpressible  longing  yet  trepidation 
to  putting  his  arm  round  her  slender  waist. 

For,  though  he  had  wooed  her,  persuaded  her  to  elope 
with  him,  and  had  now  been  her  husband  for  fifteen 


286  ONCE  AGAIN. 

months,  he  had  never  yet  embraced  her,  nor  so  much  aa 
kissed  her  hand.  It  was  being  in  the  shoes  of  Tantalus 
with  a  vengeance. 

His  very  shyness  gave  something  of  coldness  to  his  out- 
ward demeanor,  which  was  in  strong  contrast  to  his  real 
feelings;  and  this  was  so  far  fortunate.  Although  Dulcie 
pretended  to  herself  to  resent  his  taking  matters  with  a 
high  hand,  she  secretly  respected  him  the  more  for  it. 

After  dinner  Mary  came  up  and  whispered  to  her, — 

"  Is  he  not  improved  ?  He  really  has  grown  quite  hand- 
some. I  thought  you  seemed  as  if  you  were  inclined  to 
snub  him  at  dinner.  It  is  rather  unkind  of  you,  as  I  dare 
say,  poor  fellow,  he  is  in  trouble." 

"  It  is  trouble  of  his  own  making,"  replied  Dulcie,  with 
unusual  severity.  "  And  I  do  not  think  men  ought  to  be 
encouraged  who  behave  in  that  sort  of  way." 

"  Why,  Dulcie !  fancy  your  turning  so  severely  moral ! 
Besides,  we  have  not  heard  the  rights  of  the  story  yet.  It 
cannot  be  so  bad  as  we  thought,  or  Charlie  would  not  have 
dared  to  ask  him,  knowing  how  particular  mother  is." 

"  I  do  not  think  he  ought  to  have  been  asked,"  returned 
Dulcie.  u  It  makes  it  very  awkward,  because  one  does 
not  like  not  to  be  civil  to  him,  and  yet  one  cannot  help 
being  disgusted  at  his  behavior." 

Dulcie  had  her  reasons  for  saying  this.  She  wished  to 
account  in  a  plausible  way  for  the  coldness  with  which  she 
intended  to  treat  Noel. 

"  I  will  get  it  out  of  Charlie  to-night,  or,  at  all  events, 
to-morrow,"  said  Mary.  "  In  the  mean  time,  if  you  don't 
want  him,  you  may  turn  him  over  to  me ;  for  I  fancy  him 
immensely,  I  can  tell  you,  and  am  not  at  all  inclined  to  be 
down  on  him.  If  he  has  done  anything  wrong,  I  have  no 
doubt  it  was  all  that  horrid  woman's  fault.  Years  older 
than  him,  too  !  So  disgusting !  She  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  herself." 

Mary's  words  were  not  without  their  effect  on  Dulcie. 
She  thought  better  of  Noel  since  he  had  inspired  admira- 
tion in  the  breast  of  her  friend. 

Noel  was  very  taciturn  after  the  ladies  left  the  room, 
and  Charlie  rallied  him  on  his  silence  and  subdued  de- 
meanor. 

"  I  rather  feel  my  head,"  replied  Noel ;  and  it  was  not 


ONCE  AGAIN.  287 

altogether  an  excuse,  for  excitement  was  wont,  as  he  had 
said,  to  bring  on  a  return  of  his  old  pain,  and,  quiet  as 
was  his  manner  outwardly,  his  breast  was  burning  with 
mingled  emotions.  He  was  trying  very  hard  to  make  up 
his  mind  how  he  had  best  behave  to  his  wife.  It  would 
not  be  fair  upon  her,  he  thought,  to  take  advantage  of 
people  being  in  ignorance  of  their  relations  to  each  other 
to  force  unwilling  attentions  upon  her.  No,  he  would  en- 
deavor to  behave  to  her  as  an  ordinary  acquaintance 
might,  and  watch  carefully  for  any  indication  of  her  feel- 
ings towards  him. 

There  had  not  been,  he  was  certain,  the  expression  of 
repugnance  and  aversion  in  her  eyes  that  had  cut  him  to 
the  heart  in  the  summer :  the  little  disdainful  air  she  had 
assumed  during  the  latter  part  of  the  dinner  had  carried 
more  of  coquetry  than  repulsion  in  it.  He  was  dying  to 
ask  her  to  dance,  but  controlled  his  desire  and  approached 
Mary  Fawcett  with  a  request  for  the  first  dance.  She  ac- 
corded it  with  every  sign  of  pleasure,  and  Dulcie,  watch- 
ing them,  was  unreasonable  enough  to  feel  irritated  against 
both.  Now,  Dulcie  had  never,  in  the  days  of  her  freedom, 
been  inclined  to  flirt.  She  had  always  a  pretty,  pleasing 
manner  to  every  man,  but  was  not  in  the  habit  of  distin- 
guishing those  she  liked  by  making  "lightnings  of  her 
eyes,"  or  gestures  of  coquetry,  such  as  even  very  innocent 
young  girls  will  use  as  arrows  in  their  warfare  with  the 
other  sex.  But  to-night  she  departed  from  all  her  tradi- 
tions and  customs,  and  began  to  smile  on  Charlie  Fawcett 
in  a  manner  which  not  only  gave  him  a  pleasurable  sensa- 
tion, but  delighted  his  mother  and  planted  a  dagger  in 
poor  Noel's  breast.  Until  now  he  had  always  felt  like  a 
brother  to  Charlie,  but  gradually,  as  the  evening  wore  on, 
the  brotherly  feeling  grew  to  have  something  of  a  Cainish 
tendency. 

Dulcie  saw  that  she  was  making  him  miserable,  and 
felt  secretly  delighted.  She  said  to  herself,  besides,  that 
she  was  only  inflicting  a  righteous  punishment  on  him  for 
his  infidelity  towards  her.  She  made  haste  to  give  away 
every  dance,  bestowing  three  on  Charlie,  and  when  Noel 
approached  her  she  threw  him  an  indifferent  smile  and 
regretted  that  she  was  engaged.  His  under  lip  trembled 
visibly ;  he  looked  imploringly  at  her. 


288  ONCE  AGAIN. 

"  Will  you  not  give  me  one  f  he  said ;  but  she  answered, 
lightly,— 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  not  one  disengaged.  In 
fact,  I  have  promised  more  dances  than  there  are  likely  to 
be." 

So  Noel  watched  her  from  a  dark  corner,  and  saw  men 
freely  putting  their  arms  round  her  pretty  waist,  their 
faces  bending  down  to  hers,  her  heart  beating  close  to 
theirs,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  and  thought  of  his  own 
rights  of  which  he  dared  not  claim  the  smallest  part,  and, 
nearly  mad  with  passion  and  misery,  said  to  himself  that 
waltzing  was  a  most  disgusting  and  immoral  practice, 
which  ought  not  to  be  tolerated  in  decent  society. 

The  evening  came  to  an  end,  and  brought  him  no  oppor- 
tunity of  exchanging  a  word  with  Dulcie.  He  had  no 
heart  to  join  the  men  in  the  smoking-room :  so,  pleading 
the  pain  in  his  head,  he  went  to  his  own  room,  where  he 
paced  up  and  down  like  a  caged  lion.  He  could  not  stand 
much  more  of  this  sort  of  thing,  he  swore,  and  he  turned 
over  a  dozen  different  plans  in  his  head. 

She  was  his  wife,  he  kept  telling  himself:  if  he  chose, 
he  could  enforce  his  rights,  and  the  law  would  be  on  his 
side.  He  would  insist  on  an  interview  with  her,  and 
would  tell  her  firmly  that  he  could  not  stand  this  any 
longer ;  that  since,  of  her  own  free  will  and  choice,  she 
had  married  him,  she  must  abide  by  the  consequences. 
It  was  some  comfort  to  him  to  reflect  that  her  mother 
acknowledged  the  binding  nature  of  the  tie  and  had 
advised  him  to  act  with  firmness. 

Next  day,  however,  no  opportunity  presented  itself  of 
his  exchanging  a  word  with  her.  She  evaded  him  with- 
out any  apparent  design,  but  so  successfully  as  to  baffle 
his  resolve.  That  night  the  ball  at  the  Grange  was  to 
take  place,  and  he  asked  her,  as  he  handed  her  a  cup 
of  tea  in  the  afternoon,  if  she  would  give  him  the  first 
waltz. 

She  had  promised  the  first  to  Mr.  Fawcett,  she  replied, 
with  an  innocent  smile  that  transfixed  him  like  an  arrow, 
but  she  would  be  happy  to  give  him  any  other  except 
the  third,  which  she  had  also  promised  Mr.  Fawcett. 
As  she  said,  "  I  shall  be  happy,"  her  indifferent  glance 
seemed  to  indicate  that  it  would  be  a  great  bore,  but  she 


ONCE  AGAIN.  289 

supposed  she  must  submit  to  it.  The  tone  was  not  lost 
on  Noel,  and  it  pained  him  keenly. 

"  Dulcie,"  observed  Mary  Fawcett,  going  into  her 
friend's  room  before  dinner,  "you  need  not  keep  up  that 
disdainful  manner  to  Noel  Trevor.  I  have  asked  Charlie 
about  the  Indian  affair,  and  he  says  it  is  all  right,  and 
there  is  not  going  to  be  a  divorce,  after  all." 

"  Keally !"  uttered  Dulcie,  with  apparent  indifference. 

Mary  did  not  continue  the  recital,  seeing  that  Dulcio 
showed  no  interest  in  it ;  and  Dulcie  remained  under  the 
impression  that,  although  the  affair  had  been  hushed  up, 
Noel  was  none  the  less  guilty. 

Poor  Noel  could  eat  no  dinner  again  this  evening,  for 
not  only  was  his  heart  throbbing  at  the  thought  of  the 
dance  which  Dulcie  had  so  indifferently  accorded  him,  but 
he  had  the  misery  of  sitting  opposite  her  and  Charlie  and 
being  witness  of  a  decided  flirtation  between  them. 

Dulcie  had  never  distinguished  Charlie  in  this  manner 
before,  and  it  was  extremely  agreeable  to  the  young  fel- 
low. He  had  declared  that  matrimony  was  not  in  his 
line,  but  he  had  never  before  had  encouragement  from 
such  a  pretty  girl,  and  his  vanity  was  flattered.  For  Dul- 
cie was  always  an  object  of  admiration  to  men,  and  they 
never  failed  to  be  attracted  by  her  fair  and  very  feminine 
style  of  beauty  and  by  her  gracious  and  amiable  manners. 

If  Charlie  had  guessed  how  he  was  hurting  his  friend's 
feelings,  he  would  certainly  have  abstained  from  evincing 
so  plainly  the  delight  he  felt  at  Dulcie's  preference ;  but 
he  was  as  innocent  as  a  baby  in  the  matter,  and,  if  he  ob- 
served that  Noel  looked  morose  and  miserable,  attributed 
it  to  his  head,  or  to  regretful  thoughts  of  the  fair  one  left 
behind  in  India. 

The  hour  approached  to  which  Noel  had  been  looking 
so  keenly  forward,  but  before  it  arrived  he  was  filled  with 
anger  and  misery  by  the  sight  of  Dulcie  leaning  on  his 
friend  in  the  waltz  with  an  abandon  that  stirred  every 
fibre  of  passion  in  his  jealous  heart  and  made  him  for  the 
time  almost  inclined  to  hate  them  both.  He  had  a  wild 
thought  of  taking  Charlie  aside  and  telling  him  the  truth  : 
if  things  went  much  further,  he  felt  that  he  must. 

The  second  waltz  came,  and  he  walked  up  to  Dulcio  to 
claim  it.  She  received  him  with  great  nonchalance,  and 
v  t  25 


290  ONCE  AGAIN. 

when  he  put  the  arm  that  all  his  self-command  could  not 
restrain  from  trembling  round  her,  she  held  herself  stiff 
and  upright  in  the  most  aggressively  virtuous  manner. 
The  momentary  fire  which  had  blazed  up  in  Noel's  breast 
died  away  to  coldness ;  he  felt  a  gnawing  sense  of  disap- 
pointment and  mortification.  He  had  intended  to  lead 
her  into  the  conservatory  as  soon  as  the  dance  was  over 
and  to  insist  on  an  explanation,  but  even  ere  the  con- 
cluding bars  were  played  she  declared  that  she  had  torn  her 
dress  and  must  go  to  have  it  repaired,  and,  withdrawing 
her  hand  from  his  arm,  she  left  him  before  he  had  time 
even  to  utter  a  remonstrance. 

When  she  reappeared,  he  begged  her  urgently  for  an- 
other dance,  but  she  smilingly  declared  herself  engaged 
for  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  and  turned  away  as 
though  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  in  the  matter. 
As  indeed  there  was  not. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  following  evening  the  county  ball  took  place,  and, 
although  Dulcie  danced  twice  with  Noel,  she  gave  him  no 
opportunity  of  saying  to  her  what  was  burning  in  his 
heart.  It  was  a  sheer  impossibility  to  utter  in  a  ball- 
room, where  five  hundred  other  people  were  present, 
"  You  are  my  wife,  and  I  will  no  longer  live  without  you." 
A  certain  amount  of  privacy  was  absolutely  indispensable 
to  a  communication  of  such  a  nature.  Entreaty,  even  a 
little  gentle  force,  might  perhaps  be  needed  to  eke  out 
persuasion,  and  the  five  hundred  and  odd  other  persons 
formed  as  stout  a  wall  as  that  through  which  Pyramus 
addressed  Thisbe.  Noel  would  have  asked  her  to  give 
him  an  interview  in  the  morning-room,  conservatory, 
garden, — anywhere, — had  not  the  conviction  impressed 
itself  upon  him  that  she  would  not  only  refuse  it,  but  take 
care  to  avoid  any  accident  which  might  throw  her  into 
his  company  alone.  The  time  was  drawing  on :  this  was 
Wednesday ;  on  Saturday  his  visit  would  come  to  an  end. 
He  longed  for  some  one  to  help  him. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  291 

Mary  Fawcett  was  a  nice,  amiable  girl,  who  seemed 
well  disposed  towards  him  :  he  was  half  inclined  to  beg 
her  help  to  obtain  him  an  interview  with  Dulcie ;  but 
what  pretext  could  he  make  for  seeking  one  without 
arousing  her  suspicions  ?  And,  embittered  as  he  was 
against  Dulcie  by  her  cruelty  and  her  flirtation  with 
Charlie,  he  was  still  anxious  to  avoid  causing  her  embar- 
rassment. A  bolder  policy  would,  without  doubt,  have 
been  wiser  in  dealing  with  so  weak  a  character  as  Dul- 
cie's:  she  put  down  his  timorousness  to  a  guilty  con- 
science, and  was  secretly  a  little  provoked  that  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  rebuffed  so  easily. 

She  had  by  this  time  recovered  from  her  hopeless  love 
of  Alwyne,  and  Noel  no  longer  inspired  her  with  any 
sense  of  repugnance.  Her  behavior  was  more  the  out- 
come of  that  tyrannous  love  of  showing  power  which  the 
weak  love  to  exert  when  a  victim  is  thrown  in  their  way ; 
she  bullied  him  because  he  was  afraid  of  her:  if  he  had 
been  bold  and  resolute  at  first,  she  would  probably  have 
succumbed.  But  his  weakness  had  the  effect  of  making 
her  strong.  On  Thursday  the  flirtation  between  her  and 
Charlie  grew  to  such  magnitude  that  Noel  was  almost  be- 
side himself,  and  resolved  to  take  Mary  partly  into  his 
confidence.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  an  opportu- 
nity of  being  alone  with  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great  favor,"  he  said,  in  im- 
ploring tones ;  and  a  girl  is  never  averse  to  a  request  of 
this  sort  from  a  man  whom  she  regards  with  favorable 
eyes.  But  when  he  made  it  known  to  her  that  his  urgent 
request  regarded  a  private  interview  with  Dulcie,  a  pang 
of  disappointment  shot  through  her  breast.  She  was  fond 
of  Dulcie,  but  it  was  rather  hard  that  all  the  men  should 
be  taken  up  with  her,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other  girls, 
herself  among  them.  She  had  a  suspicion,  too,  that  she 
might  be  standing  in  her  brother's  light  by  furthering 
Noel's  wish,  for  she  had  not  forgotten  that  Dulcie  had 
been  very  much  attracted  to  him  the  previous  winter,  al- 
though she  was  taking  such  a  severely  moral  tone  about 
him  now.  Still,  this  might  be  only  a  sign  of  pique. 

She  hesitated ;  but  Noel  entreated  her  with  so  much 
eloquence  that  she  gave  way  at  last,  and  promised  to  do 
what  she  could.  In  her  own  mind  she  felt  sure  that  he 


292  ONCE  AGAIN. 

wanted  to  explain  away  the  affair  with  the  colonel's  wife 
in  India. 

She  arranged  to  take  Dulcie  next  day  at  noon  to  a 
small  room  opening  out  of  the  entrance-hall,  under  pre- 
tence of  showing  her  something.  The  room  was  rarely 
used,  and  they  would  be  more  secure  against  intrusion 
there  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  house.  Noel  spent 
the  night  in  framing  speeches  likely  to  overcome  Dulcie's 
obduracy ;  sometimes  they  were  tender,  sometimes  stern  ; 
and  even  when  the  morning  dawned  he  had  not  made  up 
his  mind  what  line  it  would  be  best  to  take. 

The  next  morning  he  lingered  about  until  the  appointed 
time,  and  about  ten  minutes  after  noon,  as  he  was  loiter- 
ing in  the  hall,  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  two  young 
ladies,  and,  sheltering  himself  behind  the  large  hat-stand 
where  cloaks  and  wraps  offered  ample  concealment,  he 
presently  saw  them  enter  the  room  indicated  by  Mary.  A 
moment  later,  he  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  gently  and 
went  in.  Mary  gave  him  a  cordial  greeting,  and  the  pair 
remained  chatting  for  a  few  minutes,  whilst  Dulcie  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  preserved  a  strict  neutrality. 

Suddenly  Mary  started  up. 

"  Mother  is  calling  me,"  she  cried,  and  ran  to  the  door. 
Dulcie,  hearing  this  exclamation,  turned  and  prepared  to 
follow  her  friend,  but  Noel  closed  the  door  quietly  and 
stood  with  his  back  to  it. 

Dulcie,  seeing  herself  caught  in  a  trap,  blushed,  and  a 
sparkle  of  anger  lighted  up  her  blue  eyes. 

Noel,  though  his  pulses  were  hurrying  violently,  kept 
up  a  semblance  of  calmness. 

"It  is  time,"  he  said,  "that  we  had  some  explanation." 

"  Let  me  pass,  if  you  please,"  exclaimed  Dulcie,  with  an 
unusual  display  of  hauteur. 

"  No,"  replied  Noel,  firmly ;  "  not  until  I  have  said  my 
say.  You  seem  to  forget,"  and  here  he,  too,  colored,  "  that 
I  am  your  husband,  and  that  I  cannot  go  on  for  an  in- 
definite time  being  treated  by  you  as  though  I  had  no 
claim  on  you." 

Dulcie  was  a  little  frightened,  but  she  kept  up  her  dis- 
dainful mien. 

"  I  thought  all  that  was  settled  last  summer,  and  that 
you  were  not  going  to  annoy  me  any  more,"  she  said. 


ONCE  AGAIN.  293 

Great  heaven !  to  be  talked  to  in  this  way,  as  if  he  were 
nothing  more  than  a  troublesome  suitor ! 

"You  must  allow  me  to  remind  you  of  the  facts  of  the 
case,"  remarked  Noel,  proudly,  stung  to  the  quick  by  her 
words.  "  I  met  you  here  fifteen  months  ago,  and  loved 
you.  I  think  you  loved  me  too.  If  not,  you  would  hardly 
have  consented  to  marry  me  as  you  did." 

"  I  was  young  and  inexperienced,"  retorted  Dulcie,  "  and 
you  entrapped  me  into  marriage." 

"  The  arts  I  used  were  very  simple  ones,"  returned  Noel, 
bitterly.  "  I  loved  you,  and  told  you  so.  I  asked  you  to 
marry  me,  and  you  consented." 

"  How  did  I  know  that  you  were  going  to  tell  all  sorts 
of  falsehoods  to  the  registrar,"  cried  Dulcie,  "  and  to  bring 
the  most  dreadful  disgrace  upon  me  ?" 

"  Disgrace !"  echoed  Noel.  "  I  do  not  know  that  there 
is  any  disgrace  in  being  the  wife  of  an  honest  man  who 
loves  you,  even  though  he  may  be  as  poor  as  I  was.  You 
knew  that  I  should  be  compelled  to  make  a  mis-statement 
about  your  age,  because  I  told  you  so,  and  asked  you  to 
try  to  make  yourself  look  older.  I  concealed  nothing 
from  you :  we  discussed  everything  fully  beforehand." 

"  But  you  knew  that  I  was  ignorant  and  inexperienced," 
answered  Dulcie.  "  You  have  made  my  life  one  long  mis- 
ery. Here  I  am  tied  down  for  life,  living  in  a  state  of 
deception,  afraid  every  hour  of  being  discovered,  and  un- 
able to  receive  the  attentions  of  any  other  man,  however 
much  I  may  wish  to." 

Her  words  were  like  knives  stabbing  him  to  the  heart. 
He  turned  from  hot  to  cold.  Her  cruelty  was  more  than 
lie  could  bear. 

"  Do  you  admit,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  un- 
able to  look  at  her,  so  bitter  did  he  feel, — "  do  you  admit 
that  when  you  married  me  you  loved  me  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  thought  I  did,"  she  answered,  cruelly.  "  I 
was  too  young  to  know  my  own  mind." 

"  And  if,"  continued  Noel,  not  noticing  the  last  part  of 
her  sentence,  "  you  loved  me  then,  what  have  I  done  since 
to  forfeit  your  love  ?  Was  it  my  fault  that  the  accident 
happened  which  brought  me  to  the  verge  of  death  ?" 

"  It  was  a  judgment  upon  us  for  deceiving  mamma," 
said  Dulcie. 

25* 


294  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Noel  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  It  is  childish  to  talk  like  that !"  he  said,  almost  an- 
grily.  "  You  loved  me,  and  married  me.  You  are  my 
wife,  and  I  will  not  have  my  life  ruined  by  your  caprice. 
I  was  weak  enough  last  summer  to  allow  myself  to  be 
kicked  out  like  a  cur,  but  I  will  not  again  go  through  such 
a  miserable  time  as  that  I  spent  in  India,  because  I  cared 
too  much  for  you  to  force  myself  upon  you." 

He  had  given  Dulcie  her  cue,  and  she  was  not  slow  to 
take  advantage  of  it. 

"  I  should  think,"  she  said,  scornfully,  "  you  must  have 
been  very  miserable.  You  were,  at  all  events,  not  very 
long  in  consoling  yourself." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Noel,  amazed.  He  had  no 
idea  that  Dulcie  was  aware  of  the  episode  in  India. 

"  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  she  answered, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  You  pretended  to  be  so  dread- 
fully unhappy  about  me,  and  not  a  month  after  you  were 
behaving  in  the  most  shameful  manner  with  that  horrid 
woman." 

Noel  was  staggered  by  her  words,  and  Dulcie  took  his 
momentary  hesitation  for  a  sign  of  guilt. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  have  heard,"  he  said,  pres- 
ently, "  but  I  am  in  a  position  to  explain  everything  and 
to  put  an  end  to  any  possible  misunderstanding." 

A  momentary  flash  of  happiness  thrilled  through  his 
heart  at  the  idea  that  perhaps  she  was  jealous  of  him. 

"  It  will  not  be  very  easy  to  explain,  I  imagine,"  she 
returned,  coldly.  "  Do  not  think  to  deceive  me.  I  know 
everything.  You  went  on  in  such  a  disgraceful  way  with 
your  colonel's  wife  that  he  threatened  to  get  a  divorce 
from  her ;  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why  he  did  not." 

"  But  I  do,"  answered  Noel,  warmly.  "  Because  there 
was  not  a  shadow  of  foundation  for  his  suspicions,  and  be- 
cause Mrs.  Franklin  is  the  best  and  purest  little  woman  in 
the  world." 

"  Really !"  with  increased  disdain.  "  I  thought  every 
one  knew  what  she  is !" 

"  Any  one  who  breathes  a  word  against  her  is  a  liar '" 
cried  Noel. 

"  Thank  you,"  retorted  Dulcie,  with  flaming  cheeks. 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  you,"  he  answered,  "  because  you 


ONCE  AGAIN.  295 

cannot  possibly  know  anything  about  her,  and  only  repeat 
what  has  been  told  you  by  some  scandalous  person.  It 
was  you,  indirectly,  who  were  the  cause  of  all  the  mis- 
understanding. When  I  was  so  wretched,  I  used  to  talk 
to  her  about  you,  and  she  listened  with  the  patience  of  an 
angel  and  gave  me  all  the  sympathy  I  could  have  claimed 
from  a  sister."  * 

"  Indeed !"  cried  Dulcie,  far  from  being  pacified  by  his 
words.  "  I  can  imagine  nothing  that  I  should  dislike  so 
much  as  being  discussed  by  a  creature  like  that!" 

"  I  will  not  allow  even  you  to  speak  of  her  in  that  way !" 
cried  Noel,  angrily.  "  You  must  accept  my  word  for  what 
she  is,  and  I  will  not  permit  any  one  in  my  presence  to  as- 
perse the  kindest  and  best  little  woman  in  the  world." 

"  You  had  better  go  back  to  the  kindest  and  best  little 
woman  in  the  world!"  retorted  Dulcie,  her  temper  fully 
aroused  by  his  championship  of  the  detested  wife  of  his 
colonel. 

"My  conscience  is  perfectly  clear,"  said  Noel,  more 
quietly.  "  Since  I  met  you,  I  have  never  loved,  never  had 
a  thought  for,  any  woman  but  you.  And  I  scarcely  think 
reproaches  come  very  well  from  you  to  me,  after  your 
confession  that  you  loved  Mr.  Temple." 

"  You  will  be  good  enough,"  said  Dulcie,  in  tones 
tremulous  from  shame  and  mortification,  "  to  leave  Mr. 
Temple's  name  out  of  the  question.  He  is  married,  and 
is  nothing  to  me." 

"God  knows,"  replied  Noel,  more  gently,  "I  wish 
nothing  better  than  to  forget  that  he  ever  existed.  Dul- 
cie," going  a  step  nearer  to  her,  "  let  us  forget  all  the 
miserable  time  that  is  past,  and  begin  the  future  afresh. 
I  dare  say  I  was  very  foolish  and  very  wrong,  but  G-od  is 
my  witness  I  only  sinned  from  love  of  you,  and  surely  I 
have  been  punished.  Darling,  I  don't  think  you  can  be  so 
unjust  as  to  hate  me  without  a  cause,  and,  since  our  lives 
are  bound  together,  why  should  we  not  be  happy  ?  I  love 
you  with  all  my  soul.  My  own  wife,  do  not  be  cruel  to 
me!" 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  clasp  her,  but,  with  a 
frightened  look,  she  eluded  him. 

"  No,  no !"  she  cried.  "  Things  are  much  better  as  they 
are.  I  do  not  want  to  be  your  wife." 


296  ONCE  AGAIN. 

A  sudden  overmastering  passion  of  anger  and  desire 
swept  across  Noel.  Why  should  he  submit  any  longer  to 
be  played  the  fool  with  by  this  girl  ? — why  should  he  stand 
trembling  before  her,  humbly  beseeching  as  a  favor  what 
was  his  of  right  ?  Swayed  by  a  violent  impulse,  he  caught 
her  suddenly  in  his  arms,  and,  holding  her  by  main  force, 
held  her  face  upturned  to  his,  and  kissed  her  passionately 
again  and  again.  She  uttered  a  shriek,  and  struggled  to 
free  herself  from  his  embrace.  At  this  moment,  unseen  by 
either  of  them  in  their  violent  emotion,  a  form  passed  the 
window,  paused  a  moment,  then  made  a  dash  for  the 
house.  A  moment  later  Charlie  Fawcett  rushed  into  the 
room,  caught  hold  of  Noel,  and  dashed  him  backwards 
against  the  wall. 

"  You  blackguard  I"  he  gasped,  breathless  with  rage  and 
exertion ;  "  how  dare  you  insult  a  lady  in  this  house !" 

And  the  two  men  stood  glaring  at  each  other,  whilst 
Dulcie  threw  herself  on  a  couch,  weeping  hysterically. 

"  You  will  be  good  enough  to  leave  this  at  once,"  pro- 
ceeded Charlie,  quite  beside  himself  with  passion,  and 
taking  up  the  role  of  champion  of  the  outraged  fair. 
"  This  sort  of  thing  may  be  all  very  well  in  India,  but  it 
won't  do  here,  I  can  tell  you !  You  shall  answer  to  me 
for  this," 

"Oh!"  said  Noel,  with  surprising  calmness,  "it  is 
you  I  have  to  thank  for  spreading  lying  reports  about 
me,  is  it?" 

"  At  all  events,  there  will  be  no  lies  when  I  tell  how 
you  have  insulted  a  defenceless  girl  to-day,"  cried  Charlie. 

His  words  conjured  up  a  terrible  picture  of  shame  and 
exposure  before  Dulcie's  mind.  If  this  dreadful  aifair 
were  known,  everything  would  doubtless  come  out.  Noel, 
to  justify  himself,  would  probably  proclaim  the  truth,  and 
she  would  die  of  shame.  She  checked  her  sobs,  and  stood 
up,  looking  very  white,  but  making  a  great  effort  to  com- 
mand her  voice. 

"  Mr.  Fawcett,"  she  said,  "  I  beg  of  you  not  to  let  this 
go  any  further.  For  my  sake,  you  must  please  not  say  a 
word  of  what  has  happened  to  any  one.  Promise  me,  oh ! 
promise  me  not  to  take  any  more  notice  of  it." 

Charlie  was  disagreeably  surprised.  He  had  just  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  this  heroic  manner,  had  come  to 


ONCE  AGAIN.  297 

bring  timely  aid  to  a  distressed  damsel,  and,  instead  of 
being  grateful  to  him,  she  was  insisting  that  nothing 
should  be  said  on  the  subject. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Vernon,"  he  replied,  "  you  cannot  sup- 
pose that  I  will  allow  a  man  to  behave  in  such  a  disgrace- 
ful way  to  a  guest  under  my  mother's  roof.  I  am  sorry 
Trevor  should  so  far  have  forgotten  himself;  but  I  cannot 
permit  him  to  remain  here  after  what  has  happened." 

"  If  Mr.  Trevor  leaves  the  house,"  said  Dulcie,  with  un- 
expected firmness,  "  I  shall  leave  it  too.  And  you  could  not 
do  anything  that  would  distress  or  annoy  me  half  so  much 
as  by  giving  the  least  hint  of  what  has  happened.  If  you 
do,  you  will  not  be  my  friend,"  and,  with  some  vehemence, 
"  I  will  never  forgive  you." 

A  cloud  gathered  on  Charlie's  brow.  There  was  no  un- 
derstanding women.  He  had  never  thought  very  much 
of  the  sex,  and  now  he  thought  still  less.  She  had 
shrieked  and  struggled  in  Noel's  embrace,  and  all  the 
time,  he  supposed,  she  liked  it,  and  was  quite  annoyed 
with  him  for  having  come  in  and  stopped  it.  Well,  that 
put  an  end,  once  and  for  all,  to  any  thought  he  might 
have  entertained  of  marrying  her. 

He  drew  himself  up,  and  said,  stiffly, — 

"  I  see  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  apologize  for  having 
come  in  at  an  awkward  moment.  It  will  be  a  lesson  to 
me  to  be  more  discreet  in  future." 

And  he  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Dulcie,  exceedingly  distressed  by  his  man- 
ner, "  pray  do  not  take  it  in  that  way !  You  do  not  un- 
derstand. Mr.  Trevor  has  behaved  in  a  most  unpardonable 
manner ;  but  do  you  not  see  that  if  he  were  to  go  away 
suddenly  there  would  have  to  be  explanations?" 

"  It  is  perfectly  simple,"  said  Noel.  "  I  can  say  that  I 
have  had  a  telegram  and  must  go  to  London  this  after- 
noon.— If,"  coldly  to  Charlie,  "  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
order  the  dog-cart,  I  will  get  my  things  packed  at  once." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Dulcie,  with  unusual  firmness;  "you 
must  not  go.  If  you  do,  I  will  never  see  you  again.  Ee- 
member," — looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  them, — "  if 
either  of  you  let  what  has  happened  come  out,  you  will 
be  doing  me  the  greatest  injury,  and  I  shall  leave  the 
house  at  once." 


298  ONCE  AGAIN. 

With  that,  she  slipped  past  them  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  both  in  a  most  awkward  and  uncomfortable  situa- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

FOR  a  moment,  neither  Charlie  nor  Noel  moved  or 
spoke.  Noel  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  He  felt 
disconcerted  and  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  given 
way  to  his  passion.  No  man,  husband  or  not,  had,  in  his 
opinion,  any  right  to  use  force  to  a  woman.  It  was  cow- 
ardly. Unpleasant  as  it  was  to  him  to  have  to  make  an 
explanation,  especially  after  Charlie's  rough  handling  of 
him,  he  felt  bound  to  say  something. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  began,  "  for  what  has  happened." 

Charlie  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  devilish  sorry  that  I  interfered,"  he  returned. 
"  It  is  evident  the  girl  liked  it,  although  she  screamed  and 
struggled.  I  shall  know  better  another  time." 

But  this  view  of  the  matter,  and  the  slighting  tone  in 
which  Charlie  spoke,  displeased  Noel  amazingly. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It  was  I 
who  was  in  the  wrong,  utterly  in  the  wrong ;  and  it  is 
very  good  of  Miss  Yernon  not  to  take  the  affair  more  seri- 
ously." 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Charlie,  lightly.  "  I  believe  women  like 
to  be  treated  in  that  sort  of  way,  and  only  make  a  fuss  to 
save  their  reputation  for  virtue.  They  are  all  much  of  a 
muchness.  I  never  had  any  very  great  belief  in  them, 
though  I  must  say  I  thought  Dulcie  Vernon  was  a  different 
Bort." 

His  words  were  gall  and  wormwood  to  his  hearer.  Any 
impeachment  of  Dulcie  was  much  more  painful  to  him 
than  the  most  severe  condemnation  of  himself. 

"You  don't  understand,"  he  said  again,  warmly.  "I 
was  entirely  to  blame.  But  there  are  reasons,  only  I  can- 
not tell  them  to  you  just  at  present,  why  my  conduct  was 
not  so  altogether  unpardonable  as  it  seems." 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  Charlie,  provokingly.  "  I  don't 
blame  any  man  for  kissing  a  pretty  woman.  I  only  wish 


ONCE  AGAIN.  299 

to  heaven  I  had  not  happened  to  come  along  at  that  mo- 
ment !  In  future,  whatever  I  may  see  and  hear,  a  woman 
may  shriek  her  life  out  before  I  stir  a  finger  in  her  defence. 
I  am  sorry,  old  chap,  I  laid  hands  on  you ;  she  wasn't 
worth  it :  none  of  them  are.  Come,  shake  hands  and  for- 
get what  I  said." 

Noel  felt  it  was  no  use  arguing  about  the  matter,  since  he 
could  not  tell  the  truth.  So  he  shook  hands,  and  said, — 

"  You  swear  not  to  breathe  a  word  of  this  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  swear,"  returned  Charlie,  in  a  nonchalant 
manner.  "  Hang  the  women !  I  wish  they  were  all  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Eed  Sea." 

Mary  was  very  curious  to  know  what  Noel  had  had  to 
say  to  Dulcie,  and  plied  her  with  questions  when  they 
were  alone  together  after  luncheon.  But  Dulcie  declared 
that  their  conversation  had  been  of  the  most  common- 
place nature,  and  that  there  was  nothing  to  tell. 

u  But  did  he  propose  to  you  ?"  asked  Mary.  "  I  believe 
he  did." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !  Certainly  not.  How  absurd  you  are ! " 
returned  Dulcie. 

"  I  don't  care.  I  know  there  is  something  between  you," 
exclaimed  Mary.  "  And  it  is  very  ill-natured  of  you  not 
to  tell  me,  as  I  managed  the  interview  for  him." 

"  Yery  good  of  you,  I  am  sure !"  retorted  Dulcie.  "  I 
think  you  might  have  consulted  me  first  as  to  whether  I 
should  like  it.  As  you  seem  to  be  so  much  in  Mr.  Trevor's 
confidence,  you  had  better  get  him  to  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened." 

Charlie  was  not  an  adept  at  dissimulation.  He  treated 
Dulcie  with  marked  coldness,  and  pointedly  avoided  her. 
His  mother  and  sister  imagined  that  he  had  proposed  to 
and  been  refused  by  her,  and  Dulcie  was  extremely  un- 
comfortable at  his  behavior,  fearing  that  it  would  give 
rise  to  suspicion  and  that  something  of  the  truth  might 
leak  out.  Contrary  to  his  habit,  for  he  was  a  good- 
natured  young  fellow,  he  talked  in  a  sarcastic  and  ironical 
manner,  and  was  extremely  hard  on  the  opposite  sex 
when  opportunity  offered.  He  could  not  feel  the  hearty 
friendship  for  Noel  he  had  hitherto  done,  and,  altogether, 
he  looked  forward  to  the  end  of  the  week  when  the  party 
would  break  up.  He  should  be  off  to  London,  not  caring 


300  ONCE  AGAIN. 

to  be  thrown  any  more  with  Dulcie  in  the  intimacy  of 
their  quiet  home  life. 

Dulcie,  for  her  part,  was  much  more  gentle  in  her  de- 
meanor to  Noel  than  she  had  been  before  that  little  epi- 
sode. Perhaps,  now  that  he  had  shown  a  more  masterful 
spirit  than  she  had  given  him  credit  for,  her  respect  for 
him  was  increased ;  perhaps  she  felt  that  her  present  life 
was  unsatisfactory,  and  that,  after  all,  this  state  of  affairs 
could  not  be  prolonged  indefinitely. 

Noel,  ashamed  of  his  violence,  did  not  follow  up  his 
temporary  advantage  at  once,  but,  fearing  to  displease 
her  and  to  add  to  her  embarrassment,  behaved  with 
simple  courtesy  towards  her,  and  did  not  seek  another 
interview. 

The  hunt  ball  was  to  take  place  on  the  Friday  evening, 
and  on  Saturday  his  visit  was  to  come  to  an  end.  Dulcie 
had  consented  to  give  him  two  waltzes  with  apparent 
willingness,  and  when  she  danced  with  him  she  no  longer 
held  herself  in  the  stiff  and  freezing  manner  that  she  had 
done  at  the  Grange.  Poor  Noel  was  so  dreadfully  in  love 
with  her  that  all  his  timidity  returned ;  he  had  a  mortal 
dread  of  frightening  or  angering  her;  but,  as  he  met  her 
eyes  when  the  dance  was  concluding,  and  saw,  or  fancied 
he  saw,  in  them  a  look  that  was  not  exactly  one  of  aver- 
sion, his  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb,  and  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  and  would  not  leave  her  without  some  hope  to 
live  on  in  the  future.  There  were  two  or  three  couches 
placed  in  a  corridor  where  the  light  was  not  very  strong, 
— placed  there,  evidently,  for  the  convenience  of  persons 
wishing  to  discuss  matters  of  a  more  private  nature  than 
the  ball-room  gave  opportunity  for, — and  at  the  end  of  the 
last  waltz  Noel  conducted  Dulcie  to  one  of  these,  and  she, 
although  aware  of  his  intention,  did  not  offer  any  resist- 
ance. 

Perhaps  it  would  have  been  wiser  if  Noel  had  refrained 
from  alluding  to  that  little  scene  of  the  previous  day ;  but 
lovers  are  seldom  wise,  and  Noel's  conscience  had  so 
pricked  him  for  his  offence  that  he  felt  in  honor  bound  to 
apologize  for  his  violence. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  with  great  eagerness,  the  moment 
that  he  had  seated  himself  beside  her  and  had  ascertained 
that  they  were  out  of  earshot, — "  I  hope  you  have  for- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  301 

given  me  for  what  I  did  yesterday.  I  have  felt  the  most 
awful  brute  ever  since  !" 

Dulcie  blushed  and  averted  her  face :  she  would  much 
rather  not  have  been  reminded  of  his  indiscretion. 

"  If  you  knew,"  he  went  on,  "  how  awfully  tantalizing 
it  is  to  be  near  you,  and  to — to  remember " 

Here  he  paused,  feeling  the  delicacy  of  the  situation,  and 
not  daring  to  go  on,  for  fear  of  offending  or  alarming  her. 
She  averted  her  face  still  more,  to  conceal  the  greater 
spread  and  deepening  of  her  color. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  he  went  on,  stealing  a  hand  towards 
hers,  "that  you  hate  me  so  very  much;  it  is  not  such  a 
dreadful  thought,  is  it,  that  your  life  is  bound  up  with 
mine?" 

His  voice  was  very  low,  but  there  was  an  eager  ring  of 
passion  in  it. 

"  You  say,"  he  proceeded,  "  that  your  life  is  full  of 
anxiety  and  worry  now :  do  you  think  it  would  be  more 
so  if  I  were  always  beside  you  to  shield  you  from  trouble 
and  annoyance?  Your  life  with  your  mother  must  be 
wretched :  why  will  you  not  come  to  me,  when  I  am  so 
devoted  to  you?  From  my  soul,  I  believe  I  could  make 
you  happy." 

Dulcie's  hand  was  in  his,  and  she  allowed  it  to  remain 
there  after  one  ineffectual  attempt  to  regain  possession 
of  it. 

"  I  feel  now,"  Noel  continued,  as  she  made  no  answer  to 
him,  "  that  my  marrying  you  in  the  penniless  condition 
which  I  then  was  in,  was  little  short  of  madness  ;  but  now 
— I  do  not  know  if  you  have  heard  it — I  am  very  much 
better  off.  Since  my  aunt's  death,  I  have  nearly  eight 
hundred  a  year.  It  is  not  what  you  have  been  used  to,  I 
know ;  but  I  want  so  little  myself, — I  have  had  to  do  with- 
out all  my  life, — and  everything  shall  be  spent  on  you." 

Dulcie  had  not  heard  of  his  inheritance,  and  the  news 
was  a  relief.  Now  that  no  romance  attached  to  her 
thoughts  of  Noel,  she  was  no  longer  enamoured  of  poverty. 
She  knew,  too,  that  she  would  come  into  money  when  she 
was  twenty-one  or  married,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that 
the  greatest  blessing  in  life  would  be  to  get  away  from 
her  mother's  control  and  to  be  her  own  mistress. 

Whilst  Noel,  therefore,  was  pleading  his  love,  practical 

26 


302  ONCE  AGAIN. 

considerations  were  making  common  cause  with  him  in 
her  mind.  If  he  were  only  proposing  to  her,  she  would 
have  been  very  much  inclined  to  accept  him.  The  thought 
that  she  was  already  his  wife,  and  that  he  could  claim  her 
when  he  pleased,  embarrassed  and  disconcerted  her.  Al- 
though she  remained  without  speaking,  the  fact  of  her  not 
refusing  to  listen  to  him  gave  Noel  courage. 

"  I  have  been  so  patient,"  he  pleaded,  clasping  her 
hand  closer,  and  drawing  nearer  to  her,  until  his  breath 
was  almost  on  her  cheek,  "  will  you  not  let  that  move 
you  ?  Last  year,  when  you  told  me  that  you  did  not  love 
me,  when  you  threw  yourself  on  my  mercy,  did  I  not  go 
away  and  leave  you?  God  knows  that,  if  I  could  have 
put  an  end  to  my  life  then  to  make  you  happier,  I  would 
have  done  so.  But  now  it  is  different,  is  it  not — darling?" 
He  uttered  the  endearing  word  almost  timidly.  "  Say,  at 
least,  that  you  do  not  hate  me." 

"  No,"  said  Dulcie,  speaking  at  last,  though  in  a  cooler 
tone  than  was  pleasing  to  her  listener,  "  I  do  not  hate  you; 
but  it  is  all  so  awkward,  so  perplexing.  I  do  not  see  my 
way  out  of  it." 

"  How  is  it  awkward  ?"  urged  Noel.  "  Everything  is 
simple  enough.  Why  should  you  not  join  me  in  London 
next  week  ?  Your  mother  is  out  of  the  country.  We 
need  not  consult  her.  You  know  she  is  quite  willing  to 
recognize  the  marriage.  We  can  go  away  together,  and 
it  can  be  announced  in  the  papers,  and  no  date  need  be 
mentioned." 

As  the  whole  delightful  programme  spread  itself  out 
before  his  eyes,  Noel  grew  keen  and  excited,  and  ap- 
proached still  nearer  to  his  beloved. 

But  she  shrank  from  him  with  a  terrified  gesture,  and 
cried,  "  No,  no,  no !"  with  immense  emphasis. 

Noel's  face  clouded  over,  and  a  look  of  discouragement 
passed  over  it.  Was  he  never  going  to  overcome  her 
hesitation  ?  Was  he  to  go  on  drifting  month  after  month 
in  this  miserable  uncertainty  ? 

"  G-od  knows,"  he  said,  gloomily,  "what  all  this  is  to  end 
in !  Any  day  I  may  be  gazetted  to  my  new  regiment, 
and  then  I  may  have  to  leave  you  again  and  be  no  nearer 
to  having  things  settled  than  I  was  a  month  ago." 

u  I  will  not  go  to  India,"  exclaimed  Dulcie,  "  nor  any- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  303 

where  out  of  England.     If— if— I  think  at  all   about  it 
you  must  sell  out." 

"You  were  ready  to  go  anywhere  with  me  once!"  ho 
rejoined,  with  some  bitterness. 

"  But  I  am  not  now,"  she  answered.  "  I  will  not  hear 
anything  of  the  sort." 

"  You  expect  me  to  make  every  sacrifice,"  he  continued, 
for  he  was  fond  of  his  profession,  "and  even  then  you 
promise  nothing.  How  do  I  know  that,  if  I  were  to  give 
up  all  that  I  have  looked  forward  to  in  the  way  of  ambi- 
tion, you  would  not  throw  me  over  then  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Dulcie,  piqued,  "  of  course,  if  you  cannot 
trust  me " 

"  May  I  trust  you  ?"  he  cried,  a  sudden  warmth  break- 
ing over  his  heart,  and  he  put  his  arm  round  her.  "  Only 
tell  me" — eagerly,  and  with  a  swift  return  of  hope  to  his 
face — "  that  you  will  be  mine  really,  and  I  will  send  in 
my  papers  to-morrow." 

"  There  is  no  hurry,"  replied  Dulcie,  whose  object  was 
delay,  not  to  precipitate  matters. 

"  But  there  is  hurry !"  he  cried,  hotly.  "  I  must,  I  will 
know,  here  and  now,  what  I  have  to  go  upon.  What  do 
you  propose  ?  What  do  you  wish  ?" 

"  Nothing  can  be  done  whilst  I  ana  here,  at  all  events," 
returned  Dulcie ;  "  and  my  visit  is  to  last  at  least  another 
fortnight." 

"Why  not?"  urged  Noel.  "What  is  the  use  of  delay- 
ing a  fortnight  ?" 

"  Mamma  will  not  hear  of  anything  except  our  being 
married  in  church,"  she  said. 

Noel  was  furious. 

"  That  is  nonsense !"  he  said,  sharply.     "  We  are  mai 
ried.     All  the  bishops  in  England  cannot  marry  us  any 
more.     It  is  simply  a  farce." 

"Then  you  do  not  care  about  my  feelings,"  returned 
Dulcie.  "  You  do  not  mind  my  being  talked  about,  and 
people  saying  all  sorts  of  horrid  things  of  me.  That  is 
just  like  a  man's  selfishness." 

Noel  was  touched,  for  if  there  was  one  epithet  he  did 
not  deserve,  it  was  that  one,  selfish. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  then,  my  darling,"  he  said  : 
"  your  happiness  and  your  good  name  are  dearer  to  me 


304  ONCE  AGAIN. 

than  any  other  consideration  in  the  world.  But,  surely, 
if  I  agree  to  this  marriage  in  church"  (rather  dismally) 
"  there  need  not  be  any  very  great  delay !" 

"  Oh,  but  there  must  be !"  cried  Dulcie,  perversely.  "  I 
do  not  want  a  syllable  to  be  known  by  the  Fawcetts  until 
I  have  left  the  Grange.  Then  you  might  come  and  see 
me  at  my  aunt's,  and  I  can  pretend  that  you  proposed  to 
me  there.  Then  I  must  write  to  mamma ;  and  she  will 
not  be  home  for  another  month.  Then  there  is  my  trous- 
seau to  be  got.  We  cannot  certainly  be  married  for  three 
months  from  this  time." 

Noel  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  sudden  access  of  passion. 

"  I  will  not  wait  three  months !"  he  cried.  "  I  would 
rather  give  you  up  altogether!  You  treat  me  as  if  I 
were  a  contemptible  fool,  who  will  submit  to  any  humilia- 
tion, any  caprice.  If  I  choose,  I  can  take  you  away  with 
me  to-night ;  no  living  soul  can  hinder  me ;  and,  because 
I  have  behaved  generously  to  you  all  along,  my  only 
reward  is  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  I  have  done !  I  give  up ! 
Shall  I,"  with  extreme  coldness,  "take  you  back  to  Mrs. 
Fawcett  ?" 

He  had  struck  the  right  chord  at  last.  Any  one  who 
chose  to  be  firm  and  masterful  with  Dulcie  was  certain  to 
conquer. 

She  gazed  up  at  him  with  a  timid,  appealing  look,  and 
tears  came  into  her  pretty  blue  eyes. 

"  Noel,"  she  murmured,  "  do  not  be  unkind  to  me !" 

It  was  the  first  time  for  fifteen  months  that  she  hacf 
called  him  by  his  name,  and  it  sent  a  thrill  to  his  heart. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  by  me  again,"  she  said,  motioning 
him  to  a  seat  beside  her.  "  Let  us  talk  it  over,  and  tell 
me  what  you  wish." 

He  obeyed  her,  and,  though  his  heart  was  melted  by 
her  look  of  distress,  he  commanded  himself  sufficiently  to 
preserve  a  cold  and  stern  demeanor,  seeing  that  this 
behavior  was  the  most  calculated  to  bring  her  to  sub- 
mission. 

He  did  not  speak,  and,  after  waiting  a  moment  and 
playing  nervously  with  her  fan,  she  said,  looking  down, — 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

Noel  answered  with  great  firmness  and  promptitude. 

"  I  wish  you  to  tell  the  Fawcetts  that  I  proposed  to  you 


ONCE  AGAIN.  305 

to-night,  and  that  you  accepted  me.  I  wish  you  to  write 
to  your  mother  to-morrow ;  and  I  insist" — this  was  a  bold 
stroke  for  Noel — "  that  the  ceremony  shall  be  performed 
in  a  month  from  the  present  time." 

"  But  mamma  will  not  be  back,"  pleaded  Dulcie. 

"  Very  well,"  returned  Noel,  resolutely :  "  then  we  will 
go  to  her  and  be  married  abroad.  You  write  to  her  to- 
morrow, and  I  will  write  too." 

So  Dulcie  yielded,  and  promised  to  do  what  he  desired. 

At  that  moment  the  corridor  was  empty,  for  the  favorite 
waltz  of  the  day  was  being  played,  and  every  one  who 
was  not  dancing  was  standing  near  the  doors  of  the  ball- 
room to  listen  to  it. 

Noel  drew  his  wife  gently  towards  him  and  pressed  his 
lips  to  hers.  This  time  she  did  not  struggle  or  resist.  A 
minute  later,  Noel,  looking  radiant,  and  Dulcie,  shy  and 
prettier  than  ever  with  a  rose-bud  blooming  in  each  cheek, 
swelled  the  throng  that  was  listening  appreciatively  to  the 
delicious  strains  of  the  waltz. 

"  Shall  we  not  dance  it  ?"  he  whispered ;  and,  Dulcie  as- 
senting, he  put  his  arm  triumphantly  round  her  slender 
waist  and  bore  her  away  among  the  dancers. 

At  last  he  felt  as  though  she  belonged  to  him ;  it  was 
almost  the  happiest  moment  of  his  life. 

Nor  was  Dulcie,  on  her  part,  tormented  by  the  displeas- 
ing sensations  of  repugnance  and  disgust. 


CHAPTEE  XXXY. 

EEINE  CHANDOS,  whom  we  must  retrace  our  steps  some 
three  months  to  seek,  felt  great  sympathy  for  her  aunt, 
although  she  was  sorry  too  fjpr  Dulcie.  Mrs.  Vernon,  it 
could  not  be  denied,  had  been  an  admirable  mother,  and 
Dulcie  had  lacked  nothing  that  the  most  tender  care  and 
the  deepest  interest  in  her  welfare  could  supply.  She  was 
not  of  an  affectionate  or  demonstrative  nature,  but  until 
the  time  when  Dulcie  had  so  cruelly  surprised  and  disap- 
pointed her  she  had  treated  her  with  uniform  kindness 


306  ONCE  AGAIN. 

and  indulgence,  giving  her  every  pleasure  and  surrounding 
her  with  luxury.  She  had  been  most  generous  in  gifts, 
and  few  girls  in  Dulcie's  position  were  as  daintily  appar- 
elled or  had  so  many  pretty  knick-knacks.  There  was 
nothing  mean  about  Mrs.  Vernon,  and,  although  an  excel- 
lent manager,  no  one  in  her  household  had  any  cause  to 
complain  of  any  want  of  liberality  on  her  part.  She  was 
extremely  considerate  to  dependants,  and  only  exacting 
in  respect  of  obedience  to  her  very  reasonable  orders. 

Eeine  was  thoroughly  aware  of  her  aunt's  good  quali- 
ties, her  honorable  instincts  and  love  of  justice  :  she  found 
no  fault  with  the  somewhat  autocratic  disposition  which 
did  not  manifest  itself  capriciously.  She  and  Mrs.  Yernon 
had  always  been  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  Eeine  had  every 
reason  to  remember  gratefully  the  kindness  and  support 
her  aunt  had  given  her  at  a  time  when  she  sorely  needed 
it. 

In  November,  when  she  called  in  Grosvenor  Street 
during  a  flying  visit  to  London,  she  was  shocked  to  see 
how  ill  and  harassed  Mrs.  Vernon  looked.  She  had  a  very 
bad  cough,  and  was  in  a  state  of  depression  extremely 
unusual  to  her. 

"  Dear  Eeine,"  she  said,  reduced  to  the  unwonted  weak- 
ness of  tears,  "  I  am  so  wretched  that  I  find  life  unbear- 
able. If  I  could  only  get  away  abroad !  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  I  long  for  the  South, — for  warmth,  brightness, 
sunshine ;  but  I  could  not  go  with  Dulcie,  *who  seems  to 
jar  upon  my  every  nerve,  and  I  really  do  not  feel  equal  to 
going  alone.  I  know  how  full  of  engagements  you  always 
are,  but,"  looking  wistfully  at  her,  "  if  you  could  manage 
to  go  with  me  and  stay,  if  only  for  a  week  or  two,  I  should 
be  so  grateful  to  you." 

Eeine  decided  in  a  moment.  She  had  a  grateful  heart : 
here  was  an  opportunity  of  repaying  in  part  the  kindness 
of  which  she  had  always  entertained  a  tender  recollection. 

"  Certainly,  dear  aunt,  I  will  go,"  she  said,  brightly. 
"  The  change  will  do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world,  and  I 
shall  have  no  difficulty  in  making  a  little  change  in  my 
plans." 

A  week  later,  the  two  ladies  were  in  Cannes,  and  Mrs. 
Yernon  was  a  different  woman,  having  left  her  cares  be- 
hind, and  thoroughly  enjoying  the  congenial  companion- 


ONCE  AGAIN.  307 

ship  of  Reine,  who  was  never  so  charming  as  when  she 
had  an  invalid  to  look  after  and  divert.  In  a  month  she 
was  able  to  leave  Mrs.  Vernon,  who,  though  she  missed 
her  greatly,  had  now  several  friends  and  acquaintances  in 
Cannes  and  was  comparatively  independent  of  a  com- 
panion. 

At  the  end  of  January  Eeine  returned  to  England,  and 
joined  Mrs.  Herbert,  who  was  wintering  this  year  at 
Bournemouth,  having  conceived  a  momentary  distaste  for 
the  Continent. 

The  friends  had  spent  ten  days  of  fine  weather  delight- 
fully together,  agreeing  that  one's  own  country  was  the 
only  place  to  be  thoroughly  comfortable  in,  when,  one 
morning,  Mrs.  Herbert  received  a  letter  which  caused  her 
brows  to  pucker  into  a  frown  and  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  to  droop  ominously.  It  was  her  habit  not  to  open 
her  letters  until  breakfast,  when  she  declared  they  inter- 
ested her  much  more  than  at  any  other  time,  and  she 
could,  besides,  share  her  news  and  discuss  her  correspond- 
ence with  her  companions. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mia?"  inquired  Reine,  who  hap- 
pened at  this  moment  to  glance  towards  her  friend. 

"  Something  that  concerns  you ;  something  extremely 
tiresome  and  inconvenient.  Here,  my  love,  read  and  de- 
cide !"  And  she  handed  the  letter  across  the  table. 

Heine  exhibited  equal  marks  of  concern  as  she  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  HERBERT,— 

"  I  really  do  not  know  how  to  address  you  on  the  sub- 
ject which  at  this  moment  weighs  very  heavily  on  my 
heart.  My  poor  little  Lilah  is  seriously  ill  and  suffering 
the  most  acute  pain  from  rheumatic  fever.  It  is  piteous 
to  be  with  her  and  to  witness  her  agony.  For  the  last 
two  days  she  has  done  nothing  but  moan  and  cry  for  Mrs. 
Chandos.  The  poor  darling  has  taken  it  into  her  head 
that  if  she  could  be  mesmerized  as  last  September,  the 
pain  would  leave  her,  and  she  does  nothing  but  implore  us 
to  send  for  Mrs.  Chandos,  who  she  is  sure  would  come  to 
her  if  she  knew  what  torture  she  was  suffering.  But,  in 
the  first  place,  I  do  not  know  where  Mrs.  Chandos  is ;  and, 
in  the  second,  how  could  I  ask  such  a  great  thing  of  a 
lady  to  whom  we  are  all  but  strangers?  I  know  how  kind 


308  ONCE  AGAIN. 

she  is ;  but  we  have  no  right  to  trespass  on  her  goodness 
by  asking  such  a  favor  of  her.  It  is  so  heart-rending, 
however,  to  hear  my  poor  child's  cries  for  her  that  I  can 
no  longer  refuse  to  write  and,  at  all  events,  endeavor  to 
learn  where  Mrs.  Chandos  is.  Will  you  tell  me  what  you 
advise?  I  cannot  bear  to  trouble  you,  but  I  think  you 
will  let  my  extreme  anxiety  for  my  suffering  little  daugh- 
ter plead  my  excuse. 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

UC.  CHESTER." 

Mrs.  Herbert  had  frowned  because  she  saw  an  end  to 
the  very  agreeable  time  she  was  spending  in  Reine's  so- 
ciety. She  knew  her  friend  well  enough  to  feel  tolerably 
sure  that,  however  inconvenient,  she  would  scarcely  be 
able  to  resist  such  an  appeal,  or  to  throw  away  a  chance 
of  playing  the  part  of  ministering  angel  which  was  so 
peculiarly  grateful  to  her  sym pathetic  temperament, 
feeine's  face,  as  she  laid  the  letter  down,  betrayed  the 
keenest  perplexity  and  trouble.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, she  would  not  have  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  but 
her  memory  recalled  painfully  the  sentiments  which  Mrs. 
Chester  had  expressed  about  her,  and  she  declared  to  her- 
self that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  thrown  into  contact  with 
Sir  John  after  the  declaration  which  he  had  made  her  in 
the  autumn.  Still,  the  thought  of  the  poor  little  sufferer 
was  bound  to  triumph,  and  her  heart  was  giving  her  the 
most  decided  orders  as  to  her  duty. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  in  a  dreary  tone,  fore- 
shadowing her  conviction  that  she  was  to  lose  her  beloved 
companion. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  exclaimed  Reine,  with  energy, 
"  that  I  could  possibly  dislike  so  much  as  going  to  stay  at 
the  Hall." 

"  But  you  will  go  all  the  same,"  remarked  Mrs.  Herbert, 
in  a  forlorn  tone.  The  goodness  of  her  own  heart  pre- 
vented her  from  throwing  any  obstacle  in  the  way,  al- 
though it  was  such  a  dreadful  sacrifice  to  give  up  Reine's 
delightful  company. 

"What  shall  I  do,  Mia?  1  believe  it  is  nothing  but 
fancy  on  the  poor  child's  part :  I  do  not  suppose  I  can  do 
her  one  atom  of  good.  Yet  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 


ONCE  AGAIN.  309 

disappointing  her  if  she  has  a  craving  for  me.  It  is  only 
a  sick  fancy ;  but  sometimes  those  fancies  of  a  disordered 
mind  have  an  enormous  effect  on  the  disease  and  its 
cure." 

"  Of  course  you  must  go,"  returned  Mrs.  Herbert,  with 
the  air  of  a  martyr. 

u  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you,  Mia,  and  there  is  no  place 
in  the  world  to  which  I  so  much  dislike  the  idea  of  going. 
J)o  you  think  I  have  forgotten  Mrs.  Chester's  opinion  of 
me  ?" 

a  That  is  nonsense,"  replied  Mrs.  Herbert.  "  And  she 
has  changed  it  long  ago.  Sir  John  told  me  as  much." 

"  Suppose  I  go  for  a  couple  of  days !" 

"  I  know  what  that  means,"  returned  Mrs.  Herbert, 
drearily.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  of  course  you  must  go,  and  I 
must  be  left  lamenting.  I  have  been  so  happy  the  last 
few  days  that  I  quite  expected  something  to  happen  ;  and 
here  it  is !" 

"  Mia,"  observed  Keine,  after  a  minute's  reflection, 
"  write  and  say  that  I  am  with  you ;  that,  if  Mrs.  Chester 
really  thinks  I  can  be  use,  I  will  go  for  a  couple  of  days, 
but  that  in  a  case  of  rheumatism  I  fear  my  mesmeric 
powers  will  be  of  no  avail.  Ask  her  to  telegraph,  if  she 
is  in  earnest  in  desiring  my  presence,  and  I  will  go." 

"  You  had  better  have  your  things  packed,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Herbert,  dryly.  "  There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  w^hat 
the  answer  will  be." 

The  two  friends  spent  a  melancholy  day,  regretting  by 
anticipation  the  loss  of  each  other's  society.  Eeine  in- 
sisted that  she  would  not  remain  more  than  three  days  at 
the  Hall ;  but  Mrs.  Herbert  shook  her  head. 

"  It  will  be  nearer  three  weeks  before  I  see  you  again," 
she  said,  disconsolately.  "  I  shall  telegraph  to  Jessie  to 
come  down  tomorrow." 

"  Wait  until  you  know  that  I  am  going,"  suggested 
Reine. 

"  I  know  it  already,"  replied  Mrs.  Herbert,  dolefully. 

The  next  day,  indeed,  saw  Reine  en  route  for  the  Hall. 
As  much  of  gratitude  as  could  be  compressed  into  a  tele- 
gram arrived  with  all  possible  speed,  and  Mrs.  Chandos — 
whose  preparations  were  already  made— started  at  once. 
It  was  a  long  and  tedious  journey,  and,  if  there  was  one 


310  ONCE  AGAIN. 

thing  Eeine  detested  more  than  another,  it  was  railway' 
travelling. 

At  a  quarter  to  seven  she  arrived  at  the  C station, 

where  Sir  John  was  awaiting  her  with  the  brougham.  Ai 
he  helped  her  to  alight  from  the  carriage,  he  could  scarcely 
find  words  to  welcome  her.  His  immense  gratitude  and 
his  joy  at  seeing  her  again  choked  him.  But  the  look  in 
his  eyes,  the  fervent  pressure  of  his  hand,  were  eloquent 
enough.  Mrs.  Chester  came  to  the  hall  door,  and  em- 
braced Eeine  with  the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks. 

"  How  good,  how  good  of  you !"  she  cried,  bursting  into 
tears  and  sobs. 

Tired  though  she  was,  Heine  insisted  on  going  at  once 
to  the  room  of  the  little  sufferer.  When  she  saw  the  joy- 
ous light  that  broke  over  the  poor,  wan  face  at  sight  of 
her,  she  felt  repaid  for  the  trouble,  mental  and  physical,  it 
had  cost  her  to  come.  Who  could  have  imagined  a  year 
ago  such  a  welcome  being  accorded  to  Mrs.  Chandos  at 
the  Hall  ?  Life  is,  indeed,  full  of  surprises. 

Mrs.  Herbert  had  been  quite  correct  in  her  conviction 
that  some  considerable  time  would  elapse  before  she  again 
saw  her  friend.  Lilah  began  to  get  better  from  the'mo- 
ment  that  Eeine  entered  the  house,  and  any  talk  of  her 
leaving  sent  the  poor  child  into  paroxysms  of  distress. 

Eeine  insisted  on  spending  nearly  the  whole  day  at 
Lilah's  bedside.  She  was  the  only  person  who  could  do 
anything  to  her  satisfaction.  The  touch  of  every  one  else 
she  declared  was  rough  and  hurt  her,  and  she  would  shrink 
and  cry  if  any  one  else  attempted  to  lay  a  finger  on  her, 
even  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Chester  was  divided  between  gratitude  and  dis- 
tress. She  could  not  endure  to  think  of  the  trouble  and 
irksomeness  Eeine  must  suffer  by  constant  attendance  on 
the  exacting  invalid,  and  yet  she  was  so  intensely  thank- 
ful to  see  the  great  alleviation  that  Mrs.  Chandos  brought 
to  Lilah's  suffering.  Never  did  balm  fall  so  sweetly  upon 
a  man's  heart  as  his  mother's  praise  of  Eeine  did  on  Jack  : 
he  would  have  liked  to  say  a  thousand  times  a  day,  if  it 
had  not  been  a  womanish  trick,  unworthy  of  a  man,  "  Did 
I  not  tell  you  so  ?  You  see  how  right  I  was  !" 

Mrs.  Chester  was  indeed  forced  to  confess  to  herself 
how  utterly  different  a  woman  Eeine  was  from  what  she 


ONCE  AGAIN.  311 

had  imagined.  The  two  ladies  had  many  opportunities 
of  chatting  together,  and  never  did  Keine  let  fall  a  single 
word  or  the  evidence  of  a  thought  which  Mrs.  Chester 
could  disapprove.  It  was  her  custom  to  read  prayers  to 
Lilah  morning  and  evening,  and  Mrs.  Chandos  was  in- 
variably present,  joining  in  them  with  unfeigned  reverence 
and  devoutness.  One  evening  Mrs.  Chester  was  moved  to 
say  to  her  son, — 

"  I  do  not  for  an  instant  believe  that  Mrs.  Chandos  is 
an  atheist  or  anything  of  the  sort.  She  is  certainly  no 
hypocrite;  and  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  join  in 
our  prayers  as  she  does  unless  she  were  at  heart  religious. 
Some  one  may  have  perverted  her  mind  for  the  time,  she 
may  have  come  under  some  evil  influence,  but  it  has  not 
been  lasting,  and  the  dear  creature  will,  I  know,  in  God's 
own  good  time,  be  brought  back  to  the  fold." 

And  the  excellent  lady  wept  as  she  spoke,  for  her  heart 
yearned  over  Eeine,  and  she  was  beginning  to  think  her 
one  of  the  best  and  noblest  women  in  the  world. 

"  As  for  that  poetry,  I  cannot  understand  it.  I  try  to 
forget  that  she  ever  wrote  it.  Some  day  she  will,  I  am 
sure,  regret  it." 

Then  Jack  told  his  mother  what  had  passed  between 
him  and  Eeine  on  the  subject,  and  Mrs.  Chester  rejoiced 
greatly.  She  felt  now  that  she  could  look  with  equanimity 
on  the  woman  she  had  once  feared  and  dreaded  occupying 
the  place  she  herself  had  held  so  long  at  the  Hall.  But  she 
saw  nothing  in  Eeine's  manner  to  her  son  to  indicate  that 
she  entertained  anything  more  for  him  than  a  merely 
friendly  feeling. 

The  only  recreation  which  Eeine  permitted  herself  was 
a  drive  in  the  afternoon  in  Jack's  phaeton,  and  this  she 
thoroughly  enjoyed. 

She  had  become  sincerely  fond  of  him,  and  his  presence 
was  now  entirely  pleasing  to  her.  His  good  nature  and 
sweet  temper  gave  her  an  agreeable  sense  of  repose,  and 
during  the  time  that  she  was  in  attendance  on  Lilah 
a  chivalrous  feeling  prevented  him  from  breathing  a 
word  of  his  love  to  her,  lest  it  should  vex  or  embarrass 
her. 

The  three  weeks  which  Mrs.  Herbert  had  laid  down  as 
the  time  of  Eeine's  stay  at  the  Hall  were  drawing  to  a 


312  ONCE  AGAIN. 

close,  and  a  letter  came  from  Bournemouth  which  con- 
tained the  paragraph, — 

"Do  not  forget,  my  love,  that  I  have  some  little  claim 
on  you,  and  that  I  am  pining  for  you.  Miss  Lilah  has,  I 
think,  had  her  full  share  of  your  attentions,  and  must  be 
reminded  that  she  is  not  the  only  person  in  the  world. 
So  do  not  desert  me  any  longer,  but  reward  my  uncom- 
plaining patience,  and  come  back  to  me  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble." 

Eeine  felt  it  her  duty,  as  well  as  her  pleasure,  to  comply 
with  her  friend's  wish.  Contrary  to  all  anticipation,  she 
had  spent  a  very  happy  time  at  the  Hall,  and  this  made 
her  feel  the  duty  of  returning  to  Mrs.  Herbert  more  forci- 
bly than  she  would  have  done  under  less  favorable  circum- 
stances. She  had  conceived  a  great  regard  and  affection 
for  Mrs.  Chester,  who  treated  her  like  a  beloved  daughter ; 
she  was  fond  of  Lilah,  who,  though  exacting,  was  never 
petulant  to  her  even  in  her  severest  paroxysms  of  suffer- 
ing ;  and  as  for  Jack, — well,  she  was  forced  to  confess  to 
herself  that  she  cared  for  him  more  than  she  had  be- 
lieved herself  capable  of  caring  for  any  man.  The  idea 
of  becoming  his  wife  was  not  so  absolutely  ridiculous  and 
preposterous  in  her  eyes  as  it  had  formerly  been. 

The  time  of  her  departure  was  fixed,  and  mourning, 
lamentation,  and  woe  reigned  at  the  Hall.  The  morning 
before  her  departure,  Jack  sought  his  mother. 

"Mother!"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  she  replied. 

But,  somehow,  Jack  seemed  as  though  he  could  not  get 
any  further.  His  mother  went  to  him  and  laid  a  hand 
affectionately  upon  his  arm. 

"  Is  it  something  about  Eeine  ?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  Oh,  mother,  I  feel  I  cannot  live 
without  her.  If  she  won't  marry  me,  I  think  it  will  break 
my  heart !" 

"  You  can  but  ask  her,"  said  his  mother,  gently. 

"And  you?"  he  said,  looking  wistfully  at  her.  "You 
know  now  what  an  angel  she  is.  You — oh,  mother !  you 
won't  let  there  be  anything  on  your  part  to " 

"  My  dear  boy,"  and  she  kissed  him  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "  she  shall  be  like  my  own  daughter." 

"God  bless  you,  dear  mother!"  he  cried,  and  hurried 


ONCE  AGAIN.  313 

from  the  room  to  conceal  the  agitation  that  mastered 
him. 

By  some  not  very  Machiavellian  art,  a  private  interview 
between  him  and  Eeine  was  arranged  that  very  afternoon, 
and,  at  the  conclusion  of  it,  Jack,  with  the  most  triumphant 
look  of  happiness  that  ever  illumined  a  lover's  countenance, 
led  Keine,  who  wore  a  very  pretty  and  beaming  air  of 
embarrassment,  to  his  mother's  presence. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  I  bring  you  your  daughter.  And 
1  am  the  very  happiest  fellow  in  all  the  world." 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear,  dear  daughter!"  cried  Mrs. 
Chester,  pressing  Eeine  to  her  heart. 

"  And,"  said  Eeine,  softly,  "you  are  no  longer  afraid  of 
my  having  a  bad  influence  over  him  ?" 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  answered  Mrs.  Chester,  warmly, 
"that  your  influence  will  be  good  in  every  way.  God 
bless  you  both,  my  dear  children !" 

Jack  accompanied  Eeine  to  Bournemouth  the  next  day, 
and  it  will  be  hardly  necessary  to  say  with  what  cordiality 
Mrs.  Herbert  gave  her  blessing  to  the  pair. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  Mia,"  asked  Eeine,  playfully,  "  that 
you  are  not  a  little  bit  jealous  ?" 

"  I  shall  try  to  get  over  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Herbert, 
smiling. 

Jack  squeezed  her  fingers  with  an  energy  that  was  a 
little  trying ;  but  she  bore  it  like  the  Spartan  boy. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  what  I  owe  to  you,"  he  cried. 

"  I  like  a  grateful  heart,"  answered  Mrs.  Herbert,  smil- 
ing heroically.  "  Who  says  one  cannot  enjoy  vicariously  ? 
I  feel  almost  as  happy  as  though  I  were  going  to  marry 
you  myself!" 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI. 

MRS.  YERNON  was  leading  a  very  pleasant  life  at  Can- 
nes. Several  of  her  friends  were  there,  and  she  had  also 
made  some  agreeable  acquaintances,  and  enjoyed  a  con- 
siderable popularity.  She  was  a  clever,  well-bred  woman, 
with  a  large  fund  of  amusing  small  talk  and  a  thorough 
o  27 


314  ONCE  AGAIN. 

acquaintance  with  every  topic  of  interest  of  the  day.  She 
was  always  ready  to  join  in  any  party  of  pleasure,  or  to  con- 
tribute her  share  to  the  general  amusement.  In  this,  a 
well-filled  purse  and  liberal  inclinations  gave  her  every 
aid. 

It  was  charming  to  hear  her  talk  about  her  dear  girl, 
and  the  trial  that  this  enforced  separation  was  to  her; 
but  she  wished,  of  all  things,  that  her  child  should  bo 
happy,  and  Dulcie  had  a  great  disinclination  for  foreign 
countries  and  life.  She  was  paying  delightful  visits  in 
England,  and  seemed  perfectly  happy.  A  mother  must 
always  make  sacrifices ;  and  her  own  health  had  forbidden 
her  to  face  the  trying  English  winter.  And  here  Mrs. 
Yernon  coughed  the  little  cough  that  was  scarcely  more 
than  an  affectation. 

She  had  given  up  disquieting  herself  about  Dulcie's  fu- 
ture, and  was  wise  enough  not  to  allow  a  matter  to  worry 
her  which  she  could  not  control.  It  was  with  extreme 
surprise  that,  one  morning,  she  received  by  the  same  post 
the  two  following  letters.  She  first  opened  the  one  in  a 
hand  unfamiliar  to  her,  although  she  fancied  she  had  seen 
it  before,  and,  turning  to  the  end,  read,  with  a  slight  in- 
crease of  the  action  of  her  heart,  the  name  "  Noel  Trevor.'1 

She  then  went  steadily  through  it  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  when  she  had  again  come  to  the  signature  she 
laid  it  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  DEAR  MRS.  VERNON,"  (it  ran,) 

"  Dulcie  has  promised  to  write  you  by  the  same  post, 
telling  you  what  we  have  agreed  upon ;  and  I  hope  you 
will  be  kind  enough  not  to  put  any  obstacles  in  the  way 
of  my  happiness.  I  have  been  staying  with  the  Fawcetts, 
and  we  had  an  explanation.  Of  course,  as  I  am  really 
married  legally  to  her,  there  is  no  occasion  for  any  fur- 
ther ceremony;  but,  as  Dulcie  wishes  it,  and  says  you 
wish  it,  I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  my  own  feelings.  All  I 
ask  is  that  there  may  not  be  any  unnecessary  delay.  I 
do  not  wish  to  refer  to  the  very  painful  position  I  have 
been  in  so  long  now,  nor  to  what  I  have  suffered ;  but  1 
hope  you  will  not  forget  these  in  answering  my  letter. 
If  I  acted  wrongly  towards  you,  my  punishment  has  been 
very  severe.  I  have  come  into  seven  hundred  a  year, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  315 

which  an  aunt  left  me  a  few  months  ago,  and  will  settle 
every  penny  of  it  on  Dulcie ;  and  I  hope  I  need  not  say 
that  whatever  she  has  of  her  own  I  wish  to  be  settled  on 
her.  I  should  indeed  be  sorry  if  any  one  could  think  I 
want  anything  of  her  but  herself,"  proceeded  the  letter. 

"  He  is  too  good  for  her,"  thought  the  affectionate  mother. 
"  Poor  young  man  !  Well,  no  doubt  his  eyes  will  bo  opened 
soon  enough." 

"  I  would  on  no  account  ask  you  to  come  to  England  at 
this  trying  time  of  the  year,  as  I  hear  your  health  is  deli- 
cate; but  would  you  have  any  objection  to  Dulcie  going 
to  you  with  some  lady  friend  and  to  our  being  married 
abroad  ?  I  am  going  to  send  in  my  papers  at  once,  as  she 
wishes  it,  and  shall  soon  be  a  free  agent.  Will  you  please 
let  me  know  the  name  and  address  of  your  lawyer,  that 
mine  may  see  him  and  arrange  about  the  settlements? 
Hoping  to  hear  from  you  with  as  little  delay  as  possible, 
believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Vernon, 

"  Yours  most  truly, 

"NOEL  TREVOR." 

The  perusal  of  this  letter  gave  Mrs.  Yernon  unbounded 
satisfaction.  She  had  long  ceased  to  feel  vain  regrets 
about  the  impossibility  of  Dulcie  making  a  good  mar- 
riage, and  she  looked  forward  with  intense  relief  to  the 
time  when  her  own  responsibility  would  cease  and  she 
would  no  longer  have  the  fear  of  discovery  and  disgrace 
before  her  eyes.  For  she  felt  no  confidence  that  her 
daughter  might  not  some  day  bring  dire  trouble  upon  her 
by  some  act  of  folly. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  putting  down  Noel's  letter  and  taking 
up  Dulcie's,  "let  me  see  what  she  says  about  it." 

"  Mr  DEAR  MAMMA"(wrote  Dulcie), 

"  Noel  is  going  to  write  and  tell  you  everything,  so  I 
suppose  there  is  no  occasion  for  me  to  write  it  too.  I  sup- 
pose" (Dulcie  could  never  be  trained  to  avoid  tautology) 
"  it  is  better  that  as  we  are  to  be  married  the  world  should 
know  it,  but  I  don't  see  any  particular  occasion  for  hurry, 
und  perhaps  you  would  write  and  tell  him  so,  as  he  did 
not  seem  to  like  my  saying  it.  I  have  told  the  Fawcetts 
that  he  proposed  last  night  and  that  I  accepted  him.  I 


316  ONCE  AGAIN. 

suppose  he  has  told  you  that  he  has  come  into  some 
money.  Had  I  not  better  go  back  to  Anna  next  week 
and  see  about  getting  my  things  ?  Mary  Fawcett  wants 
to  be  bridesmaid.  Do  you  think  I  had  better  have  any 
bridesmaids  ?  and,  if  so,  whom  shall  I  ask  ?  Please  write 
by  return. 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  DULCIE  VERNON." 

"  I  do  not  believe  the  girl  has  an  atom  of  heart,"  said 
Mrs.  Yernon  to  herself,  with  considerable  irritation.  "  I 
shall  certainly  have  as  little  delay  as  possible,  or  she  may 
change  her  mind  again.  [  had  better  go  home  at  once." 
And  she  thought  with  some  regret  of  the  pleasant  life  she 
would  have  to  quit,  and  of  the  parties  in  prospect  for  the 
following  week.  She  was,  however,  not  a  woman  to  allow 
pleasure  to  interfere  with  business,  and  immediately  set 
about  making  preparations  for  her  return.  Next  winter 
and  every  winter  following  she  would,  please  heaven,  be 
free  to  make  her  arrangements  independently  of  any  and 
every  other  person.  The  court  of  chancery  had  to  be 
apprised  of  Dulcie's  engagement, — law-matters  always 
took  a  long  time, — and  she  could  not  trust  Dulcie  to  get 
her  trousseau  alone. 

AH  things  considered,  it  would  be  far  better  for  her  to 
return  to  England  at  once.  She  despatched  a  gracious 
letter  to  Noel,  and  a  semi-affectionate  one  to  her  daughter, 
bidding  her  meet  her  in  Grosvenor  Street  on  the  third 
day  following.  She  then  communicated  to  the  astonished 
Morton  that  Miss  Dulcie  was  going  to  marry  Mr.  Trevor 
in  a  few  weeks'  time,  and  bade  her  pack  at  once  for  their 
journey  on  the  morrow. 

Morton  would  have  given  up  a  quarter's  wages  to  bo 
allowed  to  ask  and  hear  all  particulars  ;  but  there  was 
something  in  her  lady's  manner  that  deterred  her  from 
presuming  to  utter  a  question. 

She  was  sure  she  was  very  glad,  she  said ;  but,  without 
noticing  her  remark,  Mrs.  Yernon  at  once  plunged  into 
the  details  of  packing. 

To  her  friends  and  acquaintances  she  contented  herself 
with  a  smiling  hint  that  she  had  received  some  very  in- 
teresting news  from  home  which  necessitated  her  presence, 


ONCE  AGAIN.  317 

and  which  she  hoped  to  tell  them  more  about  at  no  very 
distant  date. 

Even  now  she  dared  not  be  anything  more  than  ambigu- 
ous, as  heaven  alone  knew  what  Dulcie  might  take  it  into 
her  head  to  do  before  the  event  really  came  off. 

When  Noel  read  her  gracious  letter,  his  heart  filled  with 
joy  and  gratitude,  and  he  forgave  her  on  the  spot  for  her 
former  coldness  and  harshness.  She  apprised  him  of  her 
intention  to  go  to  London  at  once,  and  invited  him  to 
luncheon  the  day  following  her  return.  She  saw  no 
reason  for  delay,  she  wrote ;  and,  if  legal  matters  could  be 
settled  in  so  short  a  time,  everything  else  could  well  be 
arranged. 

As  she  travelled  homeward,  she  carefully  cut  and  dried 
her  plans.  She  would  allow  every  one  to  believe  that  she 
was  pleased  with  the  marriage,  and  that  she  thought 
much  more  of  her  daughter's  happiness  than  of  wealth  or 
social  distinction.  She  would  speak  in  the  highest  terms 
of  her  intended  son-in-law,  and  would  give  it  as  her 
opinion  that  long  engagements  were  a  mistake,  and  that, 
when  two  young  people  had  thoroughly  made  up  their 
minds  about  each  other,  delay  was  unnecessary  and  incon- 
venient to  every  one.  She  would  hint  that  the  attachment 
was  not  altogether  a  new  affair,  but  that  before  Noel  came 
into  his  aunt's  money  she  had  not  thought  it  prudent  to 
sanction  the  marriage.  She  even  settled  upon  the  friends 
whom  she  would  ask  to  the  wedding,  the  trousseau  she 
would  buy,  and  the  four  bridesmaids  who  should  be  in- 
vited to  attend  Dulcie  to  the  altar.  Nothing  was  forgot- 
ten in  her  calculations,  not  even  the  wedding-ring  lying 
in  her  dressing-case,  which  she  decided  should  not  do  duty 
again,  as  it  had  brought  such  ill  luck  before. 

Dulcie  was  in  Grosvenor  Street,  awaiting  her  mother's 
arrival.  She  had  seen  Noel  in  the  afternoon :  indeed,  ho 
had  met  her  at  the  station  and  conveyed  her  home,  and 
had  taken  occasion  to  present  her  with  a  very  handsome 
half-hoop  of  diamonds,  at  which  she  expressed  a  lively 
sense  of  gratification.  He  was  so  radiantly  happy,  yet  so 
delicate  and  discreet  in  his  behavior  to  her,  that  Dulcie, 
who  had  a  gentle  and  amiable  nature,  though  she  was 
weak  of  will  and  purpose,  began  once  again  to  experience 
something  of  the  feeling  of  old  days  for  him.  She  forgot 

27* 


318  ONCE  AGAIN. 

Alwyne,  or,  if  she  thought  of  him,  felt  only  a  smothered 
resentment  against  him  for  his  cruel  treatment  of  her  and 
his  ostentatious  attentions  to  his  wife.  He  had  never 
really  loved  her,  she  said  to  herself,  but  Noel's  devotion 
had  been  unswerving  from  the  first  moment.  He  had 
succeeded  in  convincing  her  that  his  intimacy  with  the 
colonel's  wife  had  been  simply  the  outcome  of  his  love  for 
her,  as  that  dear  kind  little  woman,  to  whom  he  should 
forever  be  grateful,  and  whom  he  hoped  (after  the  absurd 
and  short-sighted  manner  of  his  kind)  Dulcie  would  also 
know  and  love,  had  listened  without  wearying  to  his  con- 
stant talk  of  her  without  showing  the  slightest  symptom 
of  being  bored. 

And  when  he  asked  Dulcie,  in  a  voice  trembling  from 
excessive  emotion,  if  she  thought  she  could  come  "to  love 
him  again  in  time,  she  behaved  with  a  charming  coyness 
which,  although  it  did  not  express  very  much,  did  not  by 
any  means  forbid  him  to  hope. 

The  poor  fellow  was  so  happy  when  he  walked  away 
from  the  house  that  he  reflected  for  the  first  time  that 
perhaps  everything  was  for  the  best,  and  that  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  good  deal  more  satisfactory  to  marry  his  darling 
in  the  open  eye  of  day,  before  all  the  world,  and  with  her 
mother's  consent,  than  to  steal  her  away  in  secret  and 
subject  her  to  all  sorts  of  disagreeable  and  ill-natured 
gossip.  No  one  would  be  able  to  say  that  he  had  wanted 
her  for  her  money :  everything  he  possessed  should  be 
hers,  and  he  would  take  nothing  from  her. 

Mrs.  Yernon  was  most  agreeably  surprised  when  she 
met  Noel.  The  haggard  and  wan  look  had  left  his  face, 
and,  under  the  influence  of  his  great  happiness  and  re- 
stored health,  he  was  quite  a  different  man  from  what 
she  remembered  him  at  their  last  interview.  He  behaved 
to  her  with  the  most  courteous  respect,  and  she  received 
him  as  though  he  were  an  eligible  suitor  to  whom  she 
was  well  disposed.  They  had  some  little  private  talk 
about  business  matters,  after  which  Mrs.  Vernon  thought 
it  advisable  to  give  him  a  hint  about  the  management  of 
Dulcie.  She  spoke  in  a  pleasant,  smiling  manner. 

"  I  see  you  are  very  devoted  to  Dulcie,  and  I  hope  she 
will  return  your  affection.  She  has  a  very  amiable  dis- 
position, but  her  character  is  wanting  in  firmness,  and  it 


ONCE  AGAIN.  319 

is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  she  should  have  some 
one  to  lean  on  and  to  look  up  to.  Do  not  forget  the 
necessity  of  being  firm  with  a  nature  like  hers :  let  her 
respect  as  well  as  love  you.  I  abdicate  entirely  in  your 
favor  from  the  time  when  she  leaves  me  to  go  to  you. 
Do  not  treat  the  responsibility  of  your  situation  lightly.'1 

And  Noel,  with  every  evidence  of  gratitude  and  good 
will,  assured  her  that  he  would  no't  be  unmindful  of  the 
value  of  the  treasure  to  be  confided  to  him,  and  went 
away,  poor  fellow !  thinking  in  his  honest  heart  that  never 
had  a  man  been  so  blest  before,  and  that  he  would  indeed 
be  a  villain  and  a  blackguard  if  he  showed  himself  in  any 
way  unworthy  of  so  angelic  a  creature.  He  had  one  of 
those  kindly  dispositions  incapable  of  cherishing  rancor  or 
remembering  injuries,  and  he  had  almost  forgotten  that 
Dulcie  had  ever  been  cruel  to  him  or  expressed  a  prefer- 
ence for  another  man. 

To  Dulcie  her  mother  resumed  her  manner  of  former 
years,  and  was  as  kind  and  thoughtful  as  the  most  devoted 
mother  could  have  been.  She  determined  to  forget  the 
past,  and  to  part  from  her  on  affectionate  terms.  It  is  but 
fair  to  Mrs.  Vernon  to  say  that  she  would  have  been  will- 
ing to  pardon  Dulcie  any  foolish  action,  and  to  shield  her 
from  its  consequences,  had  the  girl  trusted  and  confided  in 
her.  The  resentment  she  felt  had  been  entirely  caused  by 
Dulcie's  hostility  to  and  want  of  confidence  in  her;  and 
ingratitude  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Vernon  was 
a  heinous  offence.  But  now  the  past  was  wiped  out.  It 
did  not  seem  probable  that  she  would  see  a  great  deal  of 
the  young  couple  in  the  future.  Dulcie  would  come  into 
her  fortune  on  her  marriage,  and  would  be,  in  a  pecuniary 
way,  independent  of  her  mother. 

Mr.  Benson  was  sincerely  relieved  at  the  fortunate  turn 
matters  had  taken.  Morton,  turncoat  that  she  was,  ex- 
pressed the  greasest  delight  at  this  happy  conclusion,  and 
vowed  that  she  had  always  been  Mr.  Trevor's  friend.  In 
short,  the  very  crooked  course  that  Noel's  love  had  taken 
now  appeared  about  to  end  in  a  vista  of  perfect  straight- 
ness  and  smoothness,  and  everything  bade  fair  to  conclude 
in  the  approved  story-book  fashion. 

Dulcie  lived  in  a  delightful  tumult  of  shopping  and 
general  excitement.  Friends  who  owed  wedding-presents, 


320  ONCE  AGAIN. 

and  some  who  did  not,  sent  them  in  in  shoals.  The  brides- 
maids consented  with  delight  to  attend  her ;  the  wedding- 
guests  promised  joyfully  to  come.  Mrs.  Yernon  obtained 
the  services  of  a  friendly  bishop,  and  all  that  remained  to 
pray  for  was  a  fine  day.  Of  course  the  old  proverb,  "Do 
deux  amants,"  etc.,  was  verified;  but  it  was  obvious  to 
the  dullest  observer  that  Dulcie  was  extremely  well  dis- 
posed to  her  devoted  adorer. 

"  You  loved  me  once,  darling !"  cried  Noel,  wistfully,  a 
day  or  two  before  the  marriage,  smitten  by  a  momentary 
doubt. 

"  I  loved  you  once,  and  I  love  you  again,"  Dulcie  ans- 
wered, sweetly. 

And  for  the  first  time  voluntarily  she  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and,  with  a  lovely  blush,  kissed  him. 
Pho3bus  graced  the  ceremony  with  the  utmost  brilliancy 
of  which,  at  that  early  period  of  the  year,  he  was  capable. 
As  the  guests  assembled  in  the  church  waiting  for  the 
great  event,  how  little  any  of  them  dreamed  that  this 
handsome  and  happy-lookicg  young  couple  were  already 
man  and  wife ! 

Breakfast  was  over ;  the  speeches  were  made ;  the  bride, 
beautifully  arrayed  in  her  travelling-dress,  and  looking 
like  a  rose-bud,  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  shoes  and 
rice  were  showered  liberally  upon  them  as  they  drove  off. 

Noel's  heart  thrilled  with  triumph.  He  forgot  his  suf- 
ferings ;  nay,  he  would  not  have  had  anything  different  if 
he  could.  What  a  right  good  world  it  was ! 

"At  last,  my  own  darling,  at  last!"  he  cried,  with  a 
ringing  voice. 

And  Dulcie  answered,  smiling, — 

"  This  is  better,  is  it  not,  than  last  time  ?" 


TF7"  END. 


